















/vO'i^ ^ *f* 

^ -c c^:^'^v.^ . v^' 



.y"^- 




0 ti. K 


\V <P. 





•4 

> = 






,0' » ' • » , '^6 


Y- t Ij.- 

f'fV^i)' //) <’ 


0 



'^V aN^' 




H 1 ' 


z ^ 


vr V 

« o(y 

•y^'' ■" 

>•' y\.., 

' y ' - .y 

W-2^ - ^ 


1 ' 

^ % 'vvk^iv^ » .v 

=:. v.iiiW . .y ■ 

li: >»> » y 

A 


y " V ^ ' 

o,^' ^K ' 

V S 




. 0^ 

o o'‘‘ » 

o 
y 

V^Xv 

. . ^ * •> s o ’ J 

\' '"_'// > .O’ »’-'’f 'c 

> jm^\ .;.. A.. 

1 #° 

■5» • ‘ o'* • 

« -,0 '*'/.^ 

C> -y 

«'""' A- \ 

'■ V. - 

= '•‘y ,y ■•■ 

= Sg\vv ■'^f 

^ <S »’ A 

< ■'^ f) ^ X ^ - 

A ' . C ^ C .. 

aSN ^ o 

- 

=' \0 -• ® 

'o’ “ 

Wr’ ■ ' ■ ' ■ 

^ f^ ^ i\ 





<; 




’->- ^ Al ^ / 0 c >, ■' 




" a'« 

V = ,0 

•V' . ^ -a •^’ 

t. 

^0- Sb, X, 

O' „ ^ * t> ’Ai 


"%'S 


■>. 


^ fr * ^ 

X * 

-s^' 

. 0 . 

r0‘ . 

f 


; -^o 

s, 

!>• j 

* 1 

*■ 

y 1 




' ' » >? '< 3 :. 

t ^ <■ 

^\= - 

'^ . . . , ^ 0 ' A' -o 


^ if 


x' ''3‘^^'^v I - ^V^v\S±J^/'>. / ’\ 

V/^^\y " 

'’ kAA' •^^ " 


» ^ V 

’ , 0 K c . V 1 « ^ 

-i.' ' ■■" "■ -'' - " 

« o{y 

s" ^ 

v^, 4 \' s “> « 7 ^ ^ '’ N 

vA 

'•*:< c- 






l&y .' ,y ' ’^z.. 

V A • ■> 


'■>. 


_ _ . . ^ _ . . . ’^ .\V 

c^ y o'" .- A 

<y , ^ <;^ ^0 ^ V x\ 

CP's' .# C '""■-» 

.X- v^' -' • 

A- = ^0 o^_ ^ 

*'* ' ^ 

\' \ ^ 4. '« <> 0 ' 

0 

1 - -C V « , -; 

. >■,•’;■■ y \ X 

y z. A \ ""> > 




/ 

•a ^ 

1 r*- ‘ 

4-^ V , 







0 N C . ^ ^ ^ ft ^ 1 . 

V-- ^ O' . <* ' ♦ r?* 

^ -J. 0^ 0.../X?U ^ ^ 



0^ 


\ 


«S 



0^ "■ ^ > 

, ^ - = vO c> 

r. " N ^ 

* „ r^ y <* 

» • I ' • \^ , . . , •^. ♦ 5 - 0 ’ '<=>.,. 

^ ' -V ^ 0, ■< “ 0 / C 


.0' 'C' 

^ w /A) c t/* 

- 'f ^ T. 

* vV‘ 

^ ">•/ 

l\' 0 N C . '?' ^ ft ft '> *' V, \ ' « 




•X'^" 

'A/>, ^ ^Pii 

*3 

c«" 

■ '• * '^b. " * 

Nr. 


AV-^^ V * 

0 s 0 ’ S.^ 

- .\ o ^ 

V^ ^ <o 



9 I A 




4 -/ ^ 

:r '=^:<. - 

’*■ ^ ^ ^ o'' V. 

V^ S " ’A > '*' N « ^ * 0 ^ 


* 

j' v.'^'^% ■}S''^'\ . 

- \ I B ^ *C'. ^ ® ^ a\ n N f. . ’??- ft ft 


, -S-S-’ ft A (Hp, , /. o 

-^ ■> S O ' <.0 ^ » I A 

,0‘ ft ' *' 0 / 

,p. A ^ >/\A' A' A'« 

-^5^:4° ■'"^•'A'^ ;f^' 

/A. " ' 

<0 ~ ‘ * '^b' ' ' ‘ .of .-' "* '<!> 

r-c^. - o I j /s ^/yy>3- . 'f' 


\0°^. 

V * 

’*A ‘■'.M 

n> » ' * » / -'b 

A' A- fz’ "il 'P 
















1 







CHICAGO : 

MORRILL, HIGGINS & CO., PUBLISHERS. 

IDYLWILD Series. Vol. I. No. 13. June 27, 1892. Issued weekly. Annual Subscription, $26.00. 
Entered in the Postoffice at Chicago as second-class matter. 






., »> , -v ’4' ■ ' . ■ • -• . >'T -v^-;;:. v^i 

■ •' n’‘, '; a' “ • 4>.‘. 

^ • * • • • ‘ * i' » • 4 ' » ' • • • ’> ^ 

• % t ► ■-« > I B( y • 0 ' ft 

1 . S-. ;^, N * ' . 

:. 1 ■ 


'4 •-'. 


V 








GOD, GRAVENOIRE! WHAT IS THAT?” 


A PRIMA DONNA 

w 

OF THE SLUMS 


A Story of Intrigue of the Days of the 
Third Napoleon 


ADAPTED FROM THE FRENCH 










BY 


STANLEY McKENNA 


ILLUSTRATED 


( AUG 26 ]A-; 


CHICAGO 

MORRILL, HIGGINS k CO. 




COPYRIGHT 

1892 

Morrill, Higgins & Co. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I The Conspirators 7 

II The Enemy 16 

III The Prima Donna 20 

IV Jack 26 

V The Change 84 

VI An Imperial Wednesday 38 

VII Simple Effect of a Distich 49 

VIII Jack’s Search 57 

IX Father and Son 69 

X Seeing the Town 82 

XI Gabrielle 86 

XII Two Pistol Shots 89 

XIII Rose 96 

XIV Lovers at Last 99 

XV A Compact of Love 106 

XVI The Wild Rose 112 

XVII A Surprise 123 

XVIII Chasing a Shadow 129 

XIX Tete-a-tete 134 

XX The Ghost and the Lady; 147 

XXI Because he was his Son 160 

XXII Phantom of the Night 168 

XXIII A Still Hunt ... 174 

XXIV A Great Change 179 

XXV The Messenger of M. Lazare 184 

XXVI Monsieur Lazare 192 

XXVII A Dismal Night 210 

XXVIII The Mysterious House 217 

XXIX Very Urgent 223 

XXX Bad News 228 

XXXI The Minister of State 235 

XXXII The Sentence 246 

XXXill The Crucifix of Notre Dame 252 

XXXIV The Council of State 261 

XXXV The Kiss of Peace 263 

XXXVI Over the Precipice 268 





ILLUSTRATIONS 


“God! Gravenoire, what is that?” Frontispiece 

At his feet lay the evening newspaper 18 

He pulled up in front of a cafe 97 

At the extremity of a long alley of tall trees he perceived 

Marcel and Madame de Carpegna 106 

“You could do me a great favor,” she said 145 

The old man fell on the floor 209 

Marcel was let in by a policeman 238 

Grasping Rose by the waist he sprang from the rock, . . . 275 


V 






A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


I 

THE CONSPIRATORS 

They were at dinner in a restaurant — a 
party of four, two young girls and two men. 
The men were father and son. The girls 
the daughter of one and sister of the other 
man and the fiancee of the younger man. 

The restaurant was the famous Italian 
house, Regent Street, London, near Regent 
Circus, known as the Arditi. 

They were French people on a visit in 
England, and evidently enjoying themselves 
heartily. They were in a large private room, 
and considered themselves as much at home 
as if they had been in their own house in 
Paris. 

It was a cold, wet night in April, 1854, and 
the clock in the big gilded tower at Westmin- 
ster had just struck seven o’clock. 

The restaurant was crowded. In a room 


8 A PlllMA DO^’NA OF THE SLUMS 

adjoining the French family sat two men. One 
was about forty, tall, stout and strong, with 
long black hair, and a pointed beard. His 
clothes had seen their best days, and his linen 
had not been put on fresh that morning, but 
he carried himself with an easy familiarity 
that indicated he cared little for such matters 
and assumed the importance of a man flour- 
ishing round in a court suit. 

You would have said at a glance that he 
was an Italian, and at a second that he was 
an artist, a professor of languages, or a musi- 
cian. He was so sure of himself that nothing 
disturbed him. The large napkin was stuffed 
under his chin, and spread out ostentatiously 
in front of him. He swallowed large spoon- 
fuls of soup, making an unpleasant noise as 
he did so, and followed that with a large plate 
of everything on the table, taking great mouth- 
fuls, and washing it all down with beer and 
Moselle. The other was an old man. He 
watched the professor at work, himself scarcely 
touching the meats spread out before him. 
He was unquestionably a gentleman and a 
foreigner. He wore evening dress, and every- 
thing about his person was scrupulously exact. 
He was tall, slight, and somewhat bald, and 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


9 


had a good deal of the appearance of an 
ecclesiastic light in the church. 

“Per Bacco,” exclaimed the professor, 
throwing himself back in his chair to take 
breath, and tossing his mass of black hair be- 
hind his head. “What a dinner!” 

“Pardon, Marino,” said the other, “the 
waiter serving us is an Italian. Speak French 
or English, and be prudent.” 

“Then we are to have a serious talk, your 
excellency.” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, let us speak French, although it is 
a half-barbarous, nasal jargon, as our grand 
Alfieri has so perfectly qualified it. Your 
excellency, I am in capital vein for a talk — I 
feel at ease here. A cook worthy of Apicius, 
wines that Horace would have sung, and all 
beneath the encouraging smiles of the most 
magnificent of Maecenas.” 

Then, lowering his tone, he added, “No spies, 
no detectives, none of the police abominations 
of M. Bonaparte. Ah! that M. Bonaparte!” 

And then he began to eat again as if he 
wished to lay in something for the next day. 

“Have you received any news of the gen- 
tleman of the ^ Young Italy’ party.? suddenly 


10 


A I^KIMA DONNA OK TItK RlUMS 


asked the old man whom Marino called 
“excellency.” 

He spoke slowly, and accented his words 
in a manner to make it understood that he at- 
tached importance to the answer. 

“None,” replied Marino; “profound silence, 
therefore a great project is under way.” 

“Or rather a great apostasy, fool.^” 

“Oh! your excellency!” 

“Do you, sometimes, read the Swiss and 
German reviews.?” 

“No.” 

“Do, and you will see that Mazzini 
has taken up the pen again. He no longer 
borrows people’s money, he steals their 
thoughts with effrontery. A variation in the 
bandit business. Now this illustrious Joseph 
writes about ‘Liberty with Christ, Freedom 
through the Evangel. ’ He has become the 
prophet of the ideal. The Vatican will, no 
doubt, send him its benediction. I repeat, 
this silence means abase apostasy.” 

Marino sat up, and pushing away from him 
the empty plate, said with much earnestness: 

“A renegade, he, the liberator of Rome! 
Never! He was the defender of the Eternal 
City.” 


A PklMA DOKNA OK THk SLUMS 1 1 

“And I?” cried his excellency, throwing 
away his napkin, and rising from the table. 
“Perhaps I was not there! Maybe I was not 
present at the siege of Rome! Maybe I was 
not a member of the Constituent Assembly, 
and a soldier of Italy ; but I was not discours- 
ing in the great halls, I was fighting. The 
enemy, the French of M. Bonaparte, took me 
off the ground at the barricade Portese, dying, 
and my body covered with wounds.” 

“Oh, certainly,” said Marino, trying to calm 
the anger of the old man. “His excellency 
had a sublime, an antique soul, a Codes, a 
god of Mars, a paladin worthy of the capital.” 

“That’s a mistake, my friend, for to-day 
the Mazzinians respect me. I am, it appears, 
an incapable, a spy, a traitor! Yes, a traitor, 

I have been called so. I know it — oh! un- 
grateful country !” 

“Phew ! countries are always ingrates ! But, 
as Pasta used to sing, the divine, Dolce in- 
gratia patria; . Ingrate, and still so soft, so 
sweet, so smiling!” 

A profound silence followed the allusion to 
the venerated cavatina, and his excellency 
stretched himself on a divan, 

“Now. Marino,” he said, “yes or no, have 
you received any news.?” 


A I’RIMA DONNA OF YHE Sl.UMS 


t2 


“Well, yes,” replied Marino, approaching 
the old man mysteriously. “You remember 
a man who served under your orders in the 
legion of the ‘Reds.?’ — a brave, big fellow, 
named Pianori.?” 

“Evening papers! Important dispatches 
from France!” shouted a boy in the street. 

Confused exclamations floated up from the 
street. 

The two men listened, breathless. “Abom- 
inable attempt on the life of the French Em- 
peror,” called out the boy. 

The two Italians looked at one another in 
the eye, his excellency rang the bell. The 
waiter entered. “Go and buy me that paper,” 
he cried, “Quick! Quick!” 

The waiter disappeared, and soon after re- 
entered the room with the paper in his hand. 
The old man took it and read aloud: 

“Last dispatches. Paris, 5 o’clock. — A man 
named Pianori fired several pistol shots at the 
Emperor of the French to-day as he was driv- 
ing along the avenue of the Champs-Elysees 
— Napoleon was not injured. The assassin 
was seized by the crowd, and almost torn to 
pieces. He was rescued by the police and 
found to be dangerously wounded.” 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


13 


No other details of the affair were given. 
Under the dispatch from France were several 
from Italy. His excellency read again: 

“Naples, 10 o’clock a. m. — The first rep- 
resentation of a new ballet called ‘Women and 
Flowers’was given last night before a brilliant 
audience at the Theatre San Carlo. The 
auditorium was brilliantly decorated, and the 
company highly distinguished. The work was 
received with enthusiasm and the dancers 
were recalled seven times.” 

The paper fell out of the old man’s hands, 
and the ex-member of the Roman Assembly 
sank heavily on a chair. He bent his head, 
as if under the weight of some hopeless shame ; 
his words came slowly and heavily, and the 
tears stood in his eyes. “Another scaffold!” 
he gasped; “always our blood, always, and 
whilst we sweat with grief, this miserable Italy 
sings, dances, and makes love — patta! Well, 
nation without shame, if such is thy destiny, 
may it be accomplished!” 

He struck the table a heavy blow. 

“For myself, I have enough of it. Enough 
of my exile without end, of my vagabond 
wanderings around the world, of this life of a 
wild beast hunted by the police. Oh! you 


14 A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 

of ‘Young Italy’ affect disdain for my gray 
hairs, so be it ! Henceforth these white locks 
shall not bend before you! I shall put an end 
to the comedy, and take up my liberty again.” 

“What liberty.?” asked Marino, making an 
effort at a smile. 

“I shall become myself again, and have only 
one master, myself.” 

He rose and paced the room, gesticulating 
as he did so, becoming excited from the noise 
of his own words. 

“Yes, I am resolved,” he cried. “I shall 
write to the Cardinal’s secretary of state to- 
morrow. I knew M. Antonelli in the past.” 

“What! you are going to write to that 
man.?” 

“Yes. I shall solicit my pardon, and my 
amnesty is certain. Thunder! I must be like 
the others.” 

He lit a cigar, and again stretched himself 
out on the sofa. He shut his eyes and, blow- 
ing spiral columns of smoke toward the ceil- 
ing, went on: 

“At last Tsee thee once more, O my Ra- 
venna, O my country! And thou also, my 
cherished palace of the Porta Semata, so long 
abandoned. Ah ! happy Italy, mad with joy. 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


15 


All to joy then, to music, to song, to dance, 
to love. No more politics, sentimental fool- 
eries; no more misery! Nothing but brazen 
pleasures, masquerades without end, a carni- 
val without a Lent 1 Besides, my solitude has 
become unbearable and oppresses me. I have 
a great mind to try marriage.” 

“Marriage,” sighed Marino softly, as he 
went over and took a seat near the sofa. 
“Your excellency forgets your sixty and odd 
years.” 

“Sixty-three, professor, I know it. And for 
that reason I shall contract a marriage in 
harmony with my illusions — a marriage in ac- 
cordance with the ethics of my country. I 
shall seek some handsome prima donna on 
the stage of San Carlo, a star of the light 
fantastic; and if I do not find her there, I 
shall try the ballet at La Scala.” 

“Your excellency is joking.” 

“I never joke.” 

“And the portraits of your ancestors — the 
great warriors who died on the field of honor, 
who in your palace, day and night, will be 
looking on — what might they have said at see- 
ing such a ‘can-can’ .^” 


II 


THE ENEMY 

The old man jumped to his feet in a tower- 
ing rage, and would have hurled a knife at 
the musician, but a heavy fall and a groan in 
the next room attracted his attention and 
unnerved his arm. He stood listening, with 
a face as white as his ample shirt-front, not 
knowing what had happened, and fearing the 
worst. Marino put his finger to his lips and 
stole on tiptoe to the partition separating the 
two rooms. It was composed of thin planks 
covered with ordinary wall paper. Marino 
touched the paper gently with the point of his 
fingers, and felt round until he found a spot 
where the timbers were not closely joined. 
He then took out his penknife and with the 
large blade cut the paper in the shape of a 
tongue. He pushed that back, and was fort- 
unate to have discovered a slit that would 
show what was passing on the other side — 
unfortunately the way was still blocked by 
16 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


17 


the paper in the adjoining room. Marino 
made light of that and soon had a loophole. 

He gazed through it carefully for some 
time, and then turned back to the old man, 
dismay and fear blanching his rounded cheeks. 
He put his hands over his mouth and whis- 
pered in the old man’s ear: “The enemy!” 

“Police?” gasped his excellency. 

“Count Brutus Besnard, one of the coun- 
cilors of state of M. Napoleon, and his son 
Marcel.” 

“The man who murdered Lavetti.” 

“After having run away with his wife.” 

The old man grasped a knife, and was 
making for the door, but Marino held him in 
his powerful arms and shook his head. 

“He was the friend of my boyhood, my 
brother in arms — the bravest of the brave. I 
will avenge him.” 

“It has been sworn, leave it to steadier 
hands.” 

The old man fell on the sofa in deep dis- 
tress. Marino laid him back against it tenderly 
and went over once more to the peep-hole. 

After a while his excellency recovered, and 
in turn went to examine the people in the 
next apartment. 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


'l8 


The young man stood at the back of his 
father’s chair, supporting him in it, while 
•the daughter was giving him brandy. At his 
'feet lay the evening paper. The second young 
lady was fanning the old man, who appeared 
to be just recovering from a severe shock. 

It was evident that he too had heard the 
noises in the streets, and the boys calling out 
the dispatches in the evening papers. He had 
sent for one, and the news had struck him 
down. “My beloved master!” he cried, as he 
sank in a heap: Those present went to his 
assistance, and Were bringing him to when 
the old man saw him. 

A physicicln was sent for, and ordered the 
count to be laid out on the sofa against the 
wall.' Marcel Besnard said that they desired 
to return to Paris at once, in consequence of 
the attempt on the Emperor’s life, but the 
■'ddctbr refused to allow the count to be re- 
moved for several hours. 

As the count lay on the sofa his face was 
turned toward the old man and Marino, and 
they could watch its painful workings. 

“Ah! brigand!” exclaimed the old man, 
“you are suffering now, but you little cared 
what you inflicted when you enticed away his 


AT HIS FEET LAY THE EVENING PAPER 








I 




A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLtJMS 


19 


beautiful wife, and drove a dagger in his 
breast. They tried to kill your friend, did 
they.^ The day will come when they will pay 
3^ou the same compliment. Assassin!” he 
hissed bet>veen his teeth. 

Marino drew him away, lest by some im- 
prudence he should reveal their presence, and 
placed him once more on the sofa. 

“ By Jove, your excellency, you seem to have 
grown young and heavy again.” 

“I have, Marino; I have! I am back in the 
days of the bells, in the days when I roamed 
the mountains with my friend. Ah !” 

Marino placed his hand over the old man’s 
mouth, and the latter grasped his wrists with 
a grasp of iron. The professor winced. 


Ill 


THE PRIMA DONNA 

Presently the old man rose, and going to 
the window pushed it open. Marino followed 
him, fearful of an incautious burst. He went 
out on the balcony, and leaned over the rail- 
ing. The professor did the same. They were 
looking up and down the crowded street when 
a street band stopped in front of the house. 
It was accompanied by a young girl who sang. 
There were violins that rasped dreadfully 
and a harp out of tune. The girl sang the 
Brindisi of Traviata, that “Libi amo ne lieti 
calici,” so popular all over the world. 

“Nice voice,” said Marino, “but no method. 
Ah, if I had only been able to give her some 
lessons.” 

“Good!” cried the old man. “Good, little 
girl! Here’s a shilling for you,” and he flung 
the coin to her. “Now come up here, and 
sing us a little song.” 

The girl raised her head, finished her bra- 
20 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


21 


vura, and entered the house. A few seconds 
later she tapped on the door. 

Marino let her in. 

She was a superb creature, young, dashing, 
with the dark skin of the Italian, and deep vio- 
let eyes. The raven hair tumbled to the hips 
twined in heavy cords, and was bound up in 
front with a gold pin. The features recalled, 
in their purity, the lovely women of the Trans- 
terene idealized to divinity by the marvel- 
ous Sanzio. She was strangely dressed. She 
wore a costume aiming at comic opera. The 
petticoat was red, and had been, probably, the 
garment of some public favorite. It was pur- 
chased, no doubt, from the refuse of the 
Covent Garden Theater; and now decked out 
a figure matchless in its graceful flowing out- 
line. The skirt was gauzy and trimmed with 
gold lace. The bodice was white, decorated 
with artificial flowers, and at the throat was 
a bunch of wild roses. She 'walked into the 
middle of the room, this prima donna of the 
slums, and stood gazing at the two men. She 
revealed her pearly even teeth as she smiled 
and bowed. 

“Here I am, sir,” she said, addressing the 
old man, after having carefully studied both. 


22 


A I^RIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


“What shall I sing you — 'Santa Lucia?’ Oh! 
but you have no piano here to accompany 
me.” 

The old man put his glasses on his eyes to 
examine the young woman. 

“That’s true,” he said, “we have not. So 
you speak French, my dear.” 

“Yes, sir, my father was a teacher at Mar- 
seilles.” 

“You were born in France then?” 

“No, sir,” proudly, “in Rome, at the Borgo.” 

“The daughter of a professor, excuse me, 
you must be quite learned.” 

“Yes, I know everything, even to ignoring 
what I ought not to know.” 

She laughed, observing that the men laughed 
also. 

The old man replied, pointing to the wild 
roses at her throat: 

“Give me the bouquet, little one.” 

“Never, it is a talisman.” 

“Against the evil eye?” 

“Your own is not so good. No, I like these 
flowers, my father was very fond of them.” 

“Well said. Hurrah for sentiment! What 
is your name?” 

“Bella.” 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUiVfS 

“That’s your professional name, but the 
other, the real one.” ; 

She shrugged her shoulders.- ’ ' • ^ ^ 

“Won’t you tell me.?” • : . 

<‘No.” 

“Why?” • • 

“I don’t wish to.” 

“Ho, ho! There is a secret attached to it,' 
out with it.” : . 

She hesitated a morrient, and looking 
straight at both men said:. ■ ^ 

“You are Italians; so am I; my name is 
Rosina Lavetti. ” 

Both jumped to their feet, and she stood 
like a queen before them. • ‘ • ■ ’ 

“La-vet-ti!” gasped the old man. • • • • 

“Hush!” whispered Marino. ’ 

“Scipione Lavetti!” ^ 

“My father. He was murdered by a French-^- 
man, while aiding the sacred cause of liberty 
in France. The miserable wretch! I have 
sworn to plant a stiletto in hrs heart! It was 
in Provence, after the Coiip diinhg 

the great insurrection in the Midi. ■ He had 
previously broken my molher’s heart.- SLe* 
left the righting of the wrong to nie', andTam 
strong enough to accomplish it. My mdther’ 


24 A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 

fled with me here, and died in a garret. She 
taught me all she could while yet alive, and 
then I had to take to the streets to make a 
living — but some day, some day !” 

“The day has come.” 

“What do you mean.^^ Do not jest with me! 
I am a child of the slums. I have starved and 
thirsted, I have been kicked and cuffed, and 
beaten and robbed. I am used to everything. 
Don’t try to play with me.” 

“I mean what I say, the day has come!” 

“Look here,” she cried, going up to the old 
man. “My father was your friend.” 

“He was.” 

“I am twenty-two, I am not ugly; revenge 
him, and I will give myself up to you body 
and soul.” 

“Hush!” he whispered, and led her stealth- 
ily to the crack in the partition. 

“You see the old man?” 

“Yes.” 

“That is the assassin.” 

“Besnard!” And she made a dart for the 
door. The men were watching her, however, 
and intercepted her. 

“Let me go; let me go!” she cried, as she 
struggled to get free. 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


25 


“No, no, not here, not now. You see 
the young man.^*’^ 

“Yes.” 

“That is his son.” 

“Fine-looking man.” 

“It is through him we must first strike,” 
Vv^hispered Marino. 

“I understand,” said Rose. 

“The light-haired young woman is his prom- 
ised wife.” 

“He shall never marry her.” 

“The other is his sister.” 

“I will destroy them all, she cried, clutch- 
ing her ears with her sunburned hands. They 
moved back into the room away from the 
split. 

“Come and see me, Rose.” 

“When.?” 

“To-morrow,” said the old man. 

“What street.?” 

“Piccadilly, number 3.” 

“Whom shall I ask for.?” 

“Prince Guido de Carpegna.” 


IV 

jack 

Rose joined her companions on the street, 
and informed them she was not going to sing 
any more that night. They were used to 
sudden changes of mind in her, so they just 
shrugged their shoulders, and walked away. 
She ran to her little room in Soho, changed 
her costume for a black dress and hat, and 
then set off, at full speed, for a certain set of 
chambers in the Temple. A young barrister 
by the name of Jack Burroughs occupied these 
chambers. He was a light-haired giant, with 
mustache enough to serve two men. He had 
bright blue eyes, regular features, and skin 
as fair as a woman’s. He was slow of move- 
ment, slow of speech, slow to quarrel or make 
love, slow in everything, but especially tardy 
in the matter of bills. Jack was not rich, 
and as yet he had not achieved sufficient rep- 
utation to bring him much business. He was 
patiently waiting for it, however, and as it 
26 


A PRIM A DONNA OK THE SLUMS 27 

was slow in coming, it appeared to Jack that 
it was approaching naturally. He was lying 
on a sofa, smoking, when Rose entered the 
room. 

“Hallo! Rose,” he exclaimed, as he put his 
feet on the floor and sat up. “I’ve been 
rather expecting you, I don’t know why.” 

“That’s curious,” she answered, “for here I 
am. It shows, too, that you think of me 
sometimes, Jack.” 

“I •think of you all the time, beauty. I am 
glad you came, though it’s a good deal earlier 
that your regular hour.” 

“Does my presence inconvenience you.^” 

“No, but the fact is, I would have made 
some little preparation in the way of fire and 
supper.” 

“Yes, Jack, your fire is abominably low for 
a cold night, and it is a very cold night — I am 
chilled to the bone. Put some coal on.” 

“I would, dear, but the fact is Brazier 
promised to be back an hour ago, and has not 
yet put* in an appearance, and Mrs. Todbury 
has been out of sorts all day.” 

“So much so that she won't come down 
and make up the fire.^ You owe her a bill, of 


course. 


28 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


am afraid, beauty, I owe a bill to every- 
body, you included.’’ 

“No, you paid me back what I lent you.” 

“I am glad to hear it. I don’t remember 
it.” 

“Ring and get Mrs.Todbury down, give her 
that half crown, and tell her to bring some 
coal and make up a fire. This room smells 
like a grave.” 

“I think I won’t ring, beauty; she might 
not answer the bell. These old women are so 
peculiar. I’ll just step up and talk to her — 
the money will settle the business.” 

“Hurry up; I want you to take me out to 
supper.” 

Jack flew up the stairs; Rose paced the 
room until he came back. 

“Put on your hat and coat, and take me to 
a good place. Jack. I am dreadfully hungry.” 

“All right, beauty, you shall have the finest 
in the town. I am in good appetite myself; 
for, to be candid with you, through Brazier’s 
want of punctuality I missed my dinner.” 

“Make up for it in the supper, Jack. There 
is the money. ” 

“Phew! You must have found a pocket- 
book.” 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


29 


“Never mind, Jack, let us go and enjoy our- 
selves.” 

“All right, come along.” 

They had a good dinner, and plenty of wine, 
and when it was all over Jack said: 

“Now, let us go and see whether Mrs. Tod- 
bury has made a good fire.” 

“All right, Jack, I am ready.” 

They started for the rooms, and sure enough, 
Mrs. Todbury had done her work well. The 
hearth was blazing, and the room smelled like 
an oven. Rose was delighted with it, and 
stood on the sofa and sang to Jack. She then 
danced a pas setil, and he almost made his 
hands sore applauding her. 

“Now, Jack,” she said, “lie down on the 
sofa as you were when I came in, and I will 
sit here on the carpet beside you, for I want 
to have a serious talk with you.” 

“All right, beauty,” said Jack, stretching 
himself at full length on the sofa. 

“Pipe.?” 

“No, I want to hear the talk.” 

“My gentle savage,” she exclaimed, taking 
his head between her hands and kissing his 
eyes. “My loving, darling Jack.” 

“Say, beauty, there’s something the mat- 
ter.” 


30 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


“There is, and you are to listen to it and 
not say a word. Do you promise me to keep 
quiet 

“I promise.” 

“Jack, I am going to leave you. This is the 
last night we shall be together. Not a word, 
not a sound. It is hard on me to go, don’t 
make it harder. I love you. Jack, love you, 
love you! Oh! God! how it strains my heart 
to leave you. But I must go, Jack. I am not 
going to any one else; I could not do that. I 
am going away ! you shall never see or hear 
of me again — now stop, you gave me your word 
and you always keep your word to me. You 
want to say that I have been tempted to join 
a band of what you call, ‘those murderous 
ruffians in Windmill Street.’ I have not. I 
have joined no band of conspirators. I will 
not. This is a family affair — my family; my 
mother; my father — I am going on business 
they left behind for me to do — a sacred duty, 
and I am going about it. I have been wait- 
ing this for years; it has come, I must obey 
the summons. Now, Jack, if you love me, and 
have any little lingering respect for my mem- 
ory, and the happy nights and days we have 
passed together, let me go in peace. The 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


31 


dream is over, let us wake up to the realities 
of life. Don’t try to follow me, don’t try to 
seek me out; you could not find me, although 
I am not going to be shut up, but I shall be 
in a strange land, among strange people, and 
your home is here in England.” 

She broke down and sobbed aloud. 

Jack sat up and gazed into the fire. 

He lit his pipe, and sat down to smoke. He 
got up and leisurely paced the room. He 
stood in front of the fire, his legs wide apart, 
a coat-tail on each arm, and said: 

“Rose, I’d find you if you went to live on 
the Himalaya mountains, and when I found 
you I’d go after you.” 

“No, no. Jack, you would not do that.” 

“I would.” 

“Not after I had forbidden you.” 

“Just the same. I may have to walk, but 
I would reach there.” 

“Oh, Jack! Oh, Jack, that would be cruel 
to me, and may hinder the purpose of my life.” 

“Sorry.” 

“I asked you not to make it harder for me 
than it is, and you are making it harder. I 
thought you would be kind, and meet me in 
this trouble in your own sweet, gentle, loving 


32 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


way, but I see that you are selfish, egotistical, 
mean.” 

“Beauty, tell me the whole story.” 

“I can’t.” 

“Do y(ju fear me.?” 

“I do, I do,*I do! I fear no one nor any- 
thing but you, and I fear you. I fear myself 
when you are near me.” 

“Show me it is for your advantage and I 
shall remain where I am.” 

“I cannot, no, I cannot.” 

“Then there is some dark mystery behind 
it that will not bear the light of day; it now 
becomes my duty to scent that out.” 

“No, Jack, no, you won’t do that. You 
won’t try it. There, I won’t go. I’ll stay — you 
have conquered me, and broken down the 
purpose of my life.” 

She rushed over to him and threw her 
arms around his neck. 

“Be a sensible little woman, and things will 
come out all right. I know these low-browed 
fellows that hang around the back alleys are 
always trying to get you in their clutches, but 
you keep away from them, and no harm will 
come to me. They are not near so fierce as 
they look.” 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


33 


“Oh! Jack! oh! Jack,” she sobbed, and 
he lifted her in his arms like an infant. He 
placed her beside him on the seat, and kissed 
away her tears. She looked up smiling at 
him at last, but if he could have read her heart 
he would have seen a great grief there that 
she would soon be compelled to deceive him — 
that she was not frank, not honest with him, 
as she desired to be, but deceiving him to ward 
off suffering and gain time. 


3 


• THE CHANGE 


Rose appeared at No. 3 Piccadilly the fol- 
lowing morning at eleven o’clock. The prince 
was up, and waiting to receive her. He 
bowed courteously as she entered his pres- 
ence and motioned her to a seat. 

“You have not changed since last night, I 
see.” 

“No.” 

“You will in future be known as the Prin- 
cess Carpegna; you will be introduced to the 
fashionable people in the French capital; we 
start for there as .soon as you can get ready.” 

“It may take me some time to prepare for 
such a sudden change as that.” 

“Not so long as you imagine. In the next 
room you will se,e a lady whom you can con- 
sult on the matter of attire; when you have 
talked with her, you will find breakfast, and 
your most humble servant, waiting.” 

She bowed and left the room. 

34 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


35 


He could not help admiring the waving 
lines of her graceful figure as she passed out 
of the door. 

The woman in the next room knew her 
business. She had come prepared with every- 
thing. In half an hour she had Rose look- 
ing like the princess she was to be in future. 
Rose was somewhat taller than the woman 
had anticipated, and the traveling dresses 
and cloaks had to be changed. When Rose 
removed her old black dress, and the other 
things she had gone there in, she called the 
maid to make a parcel of them; she had them 
done up in a white cloth and the letter “J” 
marked on the outside of it. 

‘‘Why, you don’t want to keep these things, 
princess,” said the woman in amazement. 

“I do,” replied Rose; “put them at the 
bottom of the trunk. 

When she returned to the prince he could 
hardly believe his eyes. She wore a heavily 
embroidered white satin wrapper with a long 
train of ruby plush. She walked with a slow 
and easy carriage that well became her, and 
one would have thought, looking at her, that 
she had never quitted the purple of her an- 
cestors. 


36 A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 

“Blood will tell,” thought the count; “she 
is regal.” 

He gave his arm and led her to the dining- 
room beyond. He seated her, and took a chair 
opposite. After breakfast they returned to 
the sitting-room. 

“Princess,” said the old man, “we are going 
to Paris to take up the work of justice. I will 
give you a foremost place, and everything but 
the legal right to my name. I will ask nothing 
in return but a strict performance of duty, 
and the pleasure of dining with you once in 
a while.” 

She bowed. 

“You shall be free, absolutely free, only I 
warn you against obstructive alliances. 

“I shall obey you in all things.” 

“If there should be any little affair here in 
England”— 

“I am here, sir, to carry out a sacred trust, 
and I shall accomplish it without flinching.” 

“Oh! yes. Well, I won’t refer to that again. 
I leave you now to your maid; we start iX 
two hours.” 

He rose and left her. 

Rose stood on the deck of the boat looking 
back as it sailed away from England. She 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


37 


was thinking of Jack, “dear old Jack.” She 
had a tightening at the heart when she re- 
membered she had left without even saying 
good-bye to him, being compelled to content 
herself with kissing the frame of the door on 
the sly as she left the house. She wondered 
what he was doing at that moment, and think- 
ing about. She would never see him again; 
he was lost to her forever. 


VI 

AN IMPERIAL WEDNESDAY 

On the evening of November 24, 1856, the 
palace of the Tuileries was brilliantly illumin- 
ated. 

Several lines of carriages stood in the Place 
du Carrousel, leaving women in evening 
dress and men in uniform at the entrance. 
It was the first ball of the winter season, an 
official Wednesday. 

The rooms were very crowded, and the 
dancing was already quite animated when 
Viscount Marcel Besnard, just out of his club, 
appeared in the midst of the guests. 

He was a man about twenty-eight years of 
age, tall, of fine presence, dark, with a flashing 
black eye. He had the manners and dress of 
the fashionable young men of the period, 
a long mustache, pointed at the ends, im- 
perial, hair parted in the middle, the dash 
and vigor of the Parisian. He wore the cos- 
tume of a secretary of the Council of State 
38 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


39 


— a blue frock with facings, embroidered 
collar, white trousers, straight sword, hat 
with feathers carelessly tossed on the band. 
With a glance he swept the first gallery, 
where the people were so thick it was almost 
impossible to move through them. By mak- 
ing artful detours, however, he managed to 
reach the Marshal’s Hall. He was stopped 
at the threshold; a triple line of men and 
women barred his passage. At that moment 
the Emperor was dancing a quadrille, and 
people were rushing from every room to see 
him. 

Besnard retraced his steps, and took a seat 
in one of the ante-chambers, tired and out of 
sorts. Before him spread out the dancers, 
mostly persons of the inferior public life. The 
Marshal’s Hall was reserved for the high dig- 
nities and the foreign embassadors. 

Marcel watched the coming and going like 
a man long familiar with the splendors of the 
imperial Wednesdays, when suddenly his at- 
tention was called in another direction. 

“And how is the greatest of viscounts.?” said 
a young man to him, wearing the uniform of 
foreign affairs. 

“Is that you, Gravenoire!” said Marcel. 


40 


A PRIM A DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


“How are you, old chap? Heavens! what a 
horrible jam!” 

“It appears there are over a thousand in- 
vitations, the flower of the Empire! What a 
bouquet! How is Count Besnard?” 

“My father? Much better, thanks. He has 
come back from the seaside, and has resumed 
his work in the State Council.” 

“I am happy to hear such good news of 
him. What was the matter?” 

“A nervous affection, the doctors did not 
seem to understand it. But, in spite of that, 
he is now, thank heaven, entirely restored.” 

“Are you alone, count?” 

“Absolutely alone, with my fatigue.” 

“Your sister did not accompany you?” 

Marcel shrugged his shoulders. “No, she 
remained with her father. Besides, you know 
she never goes out. God! Gravenoire! What 
is that?” 

Gravenoire turned in the direction of his 
friend’s eyes, and saw a young woman, sitting 
in a chair, surrounded by a circle of admir- 
ers. She was resplendently beautiful. Dark, 
very dark, with deep violet eyes, superb 
shoulders, and a form that might be copied 
for a Venus. Her raven hair, wavy in front, 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


41 


fell back in long tresses, that graciously 
framed the oval face. She wore a garland of 
wild roses, glittering with diamonds, and in 
her corsage a bouquet of the same flowers. 

She lounged carelessly in the chair, dis- 
playing, almost on the knees of her neigh- 
bors, the amplitude of her yellow satin robe, 
with triple flounces of black lace. She toyed 
with a large marabout fan, fofding it, open- 
ing it, and covering her face with it, in a 
series of movements coquettish and medi- 
tative. She was surrounded by men of all 
ages, old beaux and young fellows, and each 
sought a smile with equal intensity. They 
elbowed one another to keep near her, and 
practiced their wit to entertain her. 

This wonderful person was unquestionably 
enjoying herself. At every jest, a little risky, 
she threw herself back in the chair, and 
swung the fan. Her eyes danced with pleas- 
ure, and it was easy to see she was accus- 
tomed to flattery. In one of her sudden twists 
the dress drew up, exposing the foot, and then 
there was a burst of admiration. She cor- 
rected the indiscretion of her petticoats at 
once, and frowned at the men. It was a merry 
frown, however, and no one took it seriously. 


42 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


“What is that woman?’’ asked the count of 
his friend. 

Gravenoire looked at him in astonishment. 

“You don’t know her? That is Rose.” 

“What Rose?”- 

“You pain me, count. Have you become a 
hermit? You don’t know Rose, the society 
beauty of the day, the Princess de Carpegna?” 

Marcel laughed. 

“I don’t know her,” he said, “but I am 
willing to. That’s a singular name she’s 
got. Where did she get it? In the slums?” 

“No, indeed; she is a fide princess. 
The Carpegnas are an illustrious family of the 
Romagna. Dante has devoted a whole verse 
to them in the purgatory of the ‘Divine Com- 
edy.’ She was a Countess d’A Prata. Her 
family belonged to the old nobility of Raven- 
na; but of that I only affirm what I have 
heard. However it may be, she is a charming 
woman. I was presented to her last year at 
Venice. She occupied a palace on the grand 
canal — received the cream of society, and 
lived in grand style.” 

Marcel was examining her attentively, 
studying her at a distance, as it were, with 
his glass in his eye. 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


43 


“She is very beautiful, no doubt about that. 
But what an odd toilet. A garland of red 
roses with a yellow satin dress. I don’t like 
strangers.” 

“She is quite Parisian in her style, however, 
the beautiful Rose. She pretends to promise 
everything to everybody and accords nothing.” 
“Ah!” 

“Quite true.” 

“But what an affectation that is, to wear the 
Austrian colors.” 

“That is done, probably, in honor of her 
noble Husband, who was an old conspirator, 
at present repentant and restored to the favor 
of the tyrants.” 

“There is a husband, then.?” 

“Oh, very little! He is rarely seen; it is 
even said that they detest one another, and 
live apart.” 

“In that case present me.” 

“Lovelace.?” 

“By no means.” 

They went over to the princess. “Monsieur 
de Gravenoire !” cried Mme. de Carpegna, on 
seeing the attache to the embassy — “You have 
become quite rare for some time.” 

Gravenoire excused himself in the press of 
business at the embassy. 


44 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


“I am now at Passy,” continued the young 
woman,” in my little house in Garden Street.” 

“You don’t want a gardener, I suppose, 
princess ?” 

“No, nor a coachman either; but I receive 
my friends there with pleasure, who wish to 
make the pilgrimage.” 

“Madame,” said Gravenoire, “allow me to 
present to you my friend. Viscount Marcel 
Besnard.” 

The faintest tint of red flashed across the 
pale face of the princess as she looked up at 
the young viscount. 

“M. Marcel Besnard, of the family of the 
Count Brutus Besnard.?” said the princess. 

“My father, madame,” said Marcel. 

“Formerly Attorney General?” 

“The Same.” 

The violet eyes were fixed on him a mo- 
ment, and then extending to him her hand 
she said: 

“Friend of one of my friends, you are, from 
this moment out, my friend; sit down.” 

The old Baron de Chesnaye, a chamberlain- 
deputy, pretended to be ill-used by the 
favor shown to Marcel, and the princess 
laughed heartily. 


A PRiaiA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


45 


“Will the princess deign to accord me the 
favor of a waltz?” said Marcel. 

She rose at once. 

“As a general thing,” she said, “I don’t 
care for the waltz, but I can’t refuse the son 
of Count Brutus Besnard.” 

“Take care,” said de Chesnaye, “he’ll ask 
for something else.” 

“He is the right age for audacity, my dear 
de Chesnaye.” 

There was a general burst of applause. 

She took the arm of the young man softly, 
and leaned on it, lazy and languid at the same 
time. With a slight and voluptuous pressure, 
she held it against her side. He became nerv- 
ous, troubled and unable to say a word. He 
drew her across the floor, past many groups, 
fearing to break the charm that bound him. 

“So, sir,” she said a second time, “you are 
the son of Count Brutus Besnard, formerly 
the Attorney General.” 

“And to-day a Councilor of State; yes, 
princess. Did you know my father?” 

“Oh! Not personally, but I know his name. 
It is one of the glories of imperial France. 
A name, viscount, that must be heavy to bear.” 

Marcel bowed solemnly, then putting his 


46 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


arm round the waist of the lovely princess, he 
swept her with the movement of the dance. 
Trembling with excitement, she waltzed, 
pressed closely against him, her eyes closed, 
touching his cheek every now and again with 
her face, and wholly given up to the power- 
ful arm he held around her. 

They were compelled to stop suddenly, the 
music ceased abruptly. The leader of the 
orchestra struck three blows on his desk, and 
at once the band struck up the official hymn 
of “Queen Hortense.” The Duke de Bassano, 
the Grand Chamberlain, appeared in the door- 
way of the Gallery of Fetes and announced: 

“The Emperor.” 

“What’s the matter.^” asked the princess of 
her partner. 

“The Emperor,” replied Marcel. “He is 
making a tour of the hall, before retiring to 
his apartments.” 

With an effort almost brutal, the young 
woman tore aside the outstretched hands 
surrounding her. A surprising transformation 
took place in her; like a flash her languid, 
easy manner changed to feverish activity and 
energy, and the nerves almost danced in her 
face. 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


47 


^‘The Emperor?” she exclaimed. “Quick, 
oh, quick! Monsieur, let us get up to him.” 

The dancers in the gallery had already 
formed in two lines, elbowing one another in 
the rudest way. The Princess de Carpegna 
was able to gain a front place in the crowd 
through the efforts of Marcel. The orchestra 
stopped, a murmur passed along the lines. 
The imperial cortege was advancing slowly. 

At* the head the officers of the Cent Gardes 
behind them the aides-de-camp, then the 
masters of ceremony, and last the Emperor. 

Napoleon the Third wore the uniform of a 
general of division, and the grand cordon of 
the Legion d’honneur. 

He was passing, when all of a sudden the 
Princess de Carpegna pushed forward her 
head to get a better view. Her fan fell out 
of her hand, and she gave a little cry. Napo- 
leon stopped, took up the fan and handed it to 
her with a most gracious bow. Then, with 
a strange and unusual self-possession, she 
stepped forward and gave him her hand. 

They gazed into one another’s eyes, she 
blushed faintly and retired. The Emperor 
saluted her again and went on. 

A few steps further on he recognized the 


48 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


old chamberlain de Chesnaye and spoke a few 
words in his ear. 

Half an hour later Napoleon the Third had 
returned to his apartments. 




'’i , ’. ■■■ 

A ' 


c 





1 









VII 


SIMPLE EFFECT OF A DISTICH 

“Your Emperor is charming,” said the prin- 
cess, with an access of girlishness and inno- 
cence. “He is gallant and polite. Ah! Louis 
the XIV has found his master. Napoleon is 
charming! charming!” 

She had taken the arm of her escort again, 
and crossed the room, chatting and laughing 
with him all the way. 

“What a magnificent ball, viscount! I have 
been to many of the official reunions in Italy, 
but, alas, our miserable festivals could not 
come up to the splendors of your court; our 
princes are so poor, so insignificant — beggars, 
veritable beggars; but this is a gorgeous dis- 
play.” 

“ Do you intend to remain in Paris, princess .^” 

“For some time, at least. I adore Paris.” 

“And the Parisians, princess.!^” 

“And the Parisians.^ They are dangerous, 
very dangerous, too much to be feared by 


50 A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 

poor women like me, isolated and without a 
champion.” 

She spoke in soft, sweet, caressing tones, at 
the same time resuming the gentle pressure 
on his arm. The figure undulated and she 
seemed rather to sail than walk as she almost 
imperceptibly leaned against his breast once 
more. 

They got into the room where the standing 
supper was spread out. A rough and con- 
fused crowd was already there, pushing to and 
from the tables. 

“What day do you receive, princess asked 
Marcel, whom the last words, “isolated and 
without a champion,” had made thoughtful. 

“Saturda}^ viscount, but you will be wel- 
come any day — oh! if I could — ” 

She did not finish, but with a sharp, quick 
movement fell back. “Don't go on that side,” 
she whispered. “Avoid that man, that one! 
He is so bad.” 

She pointed to a man on a sofa, talking 
with some others in an animated manner. He 
was an old man, dressed in an elegant court 
costume, sword and all. 

“Who is this very wicked man.?” asked Mar- 
cel, making light of the matter. 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


51 


“That one I see on the sofa. That old papa 
bare-head who has not a hair left on his crown. 
He has a shining skull, though. I doubt if a fly 
could get a footing there. It must be more slip- 
pery than polished marble. I never saw a pate 
with such a finish on it. In a competition for 
baldness, our old friend de Chesnaye would 
have to own himself vanquished by that man.” 

He fixed his glass in his eye, and looked 
once more, with an almost impertinent per- 
sistence. 

“You are afraid of him.^ What nonsense.” 

“He is very wicked,” she said shivering, 
and in the frightened tone of a young girl. 
She seemed to be really alarmed. 

Marcel made a detour to avoid the old man, 
but the latter had already risen, and, con- 
tinuing his conversation, followed the secre- 
tary and the young woman step by step. 

They were compelled to stop in a little 
while. 

“I am very hungry,” said the princess, sud- 
denly assured, as she fancied they had escaped 
the old man. 

“Let us try and get to the table.” 

Marcel managed to push his way to the 
table, not without trouble, and installing her 


52 


A PRIM A DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


in front of it, placed himself behind her to pro- 
tect her. A voice talking in the crowd be- 
hind him, caused him to raise his head and 
listen. “Who is the shadow of the beautiful 
Rose.^^ 

“I have just heard his name. He is a cer- 
tain Viscount Besnard.” 

“A relative of the State Councilor.?’^ 

“I believe so.” 

There was a short silence, and then the 
voice said in a high and mocking tone: 

“ The attorney Besnard, Brutus of the seaman’s land, 
Son of a hangman, became hangman of a band.” 

Marcel turned quickly and found himself 
face to face with the person who had fright- 
ened the princess, and examined him angrily 
form head to foot. 

The old man returned the insolent look 
with interest, and measured the viscount with 
his eye. 

“That is an abominable verse, sir,” said the 
young man, “and it seems to me to need a 
lesson in poetry. I am the son of Count 
Brutus Besnard — will you wait a moment.^ I 
want to talk to you.” 

The old man laughed mockingly. “I am at 
your service, sir,” he said; “not here, though. 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


53 


I suppose you will find me by and by in the 
Apollo Hall.” 

During this colloquy the princess had not 
looked; she was giving up her entire time and 
attention to the consumption of the good 
things on the table. 

Had she heard ? 

She turned to seek the arm of her escort 
soon after, and Marcel and she went back to 
her former place. 

Her return was greeted with loud demon- 
strations qf joy. La Chesnaye, Gravenoire 
and the others were waiting for her. They 
formed a circle round, and wit and laughter 
once more assumed the ascendency. 

Chamberlain La Chesnaye displaced two 
hairs that had escaped the mucilage holding 
the others to his temple, in bending down to 
whisper to the princess. 

“I have something sweet to say to you.” 

“Well, say it.” 

“You manage the fan so gracefully.” 

“Is that all?” 

“No.” 

“What else?” 

“Ah! you take one’s breath away.” 

“Do ir 


54 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


“Yes, indeed.” 

“Go and get a new pair of lungs.” 

“I wish I could.” 

“What did you want to say.^” 

“The Emperor is in love with you.” 

“Oh! you old storyteller,” hiding behind 
the fan. 

“He is, indeed. He told me so.” 

“And you betray his confidence; that’s 
dreadful.” 

“Well, I am your friend.” 

“And come to frighten me. I hardly think 
it.” 

“I am, indeed.” 

“What is that old suborner of innocence 
saying.^” asked Gravenoire. 

“Some amiable nonsense,” replied the 
princess. And pointing to the golden key at- 
tached to the red gown of the chamberlain 
she added; “He wants to open all the doors 
in the palace for 'me. What a gusher!” 

After leaving the princess with her friends, 
Marcel went to the Apollo Hall to keep his 
appointment with the old man. The Salon 
d’Apollon was a good distance from the Gal- 
lerie des Fetes, and at that late hour pretty 
nearly deserted. The old man was waiting, 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


55 


alone, carelessly lying on a sofa. Marcel 
pushed a chair near the sofa, sat down, and 
bending forward toward the man who had 
provoked him, said: 

“I am the son of Count Brutus Besnard, 
and you insulted my father.” 

The other toyed with the lace on his jacket, 
then, calm, smiling, in a tone at once cold 
and dry, replied: 

“Insulted your father, my dear sir.^ Alas! 
he is not of the kind that may be insulted.” 

Marcel tore the glove frgm his left hand. 

“What do you mean.^” he gasped. 

“Besnard, the attorney of the South and 
swdndler of sailors’saving institutions, ex-con- 
triver of mixed commissions, and manipulator 
of dark designs, has committed many cruel 
atrocities in his time.” 

Marcel bounded to his feet. “You lie!” he 
cried; “my father has always accomplished 
his duties worthily.” 

“Even in assassinating Lavetti, whom he 
was not content with stabbing once, but drove 
the steel through his breast a second time to 
make sure. He had previously corrupted that 
noble patriot’s wife, and ruined his home. 
Your father is an infamous scoundrel.” 


56 


A PKIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


Marcel struck the old man across the face 
with his glove. The old man rose to his full 
height and setting his teeth cried: 

“I will kill you to-morrow.” 

“Your naine.^” cried Marcel. 

“There is my card.” 

Marcel seized it, read it, and fell back in 
amazement. The words on the card were 
these: 

“Prince de Carpegna.” 

Rose sat surrounded by her admirers in the 
Gallerie des Fetes. 

Marcel went and jdfined them. 


VIII 

jack’s search 

Jack Burroughs was one of the happiest 
men in London the day after Rose’s visit to 
the Temple. He ate a great breakfast, ‘and 
went off to his avocations like a man meaning 
business. 

He got business too, plenty of it, that day, 
and was as much surprised as if he had found 
a crock of gold. He set himself to it like a 
man in earnest, and by the time the dinner 
hour came, he had the satisfaction of seeing 
that he had accomplished a good day’s work. 
He had a splendid appetite, and after a cigar, 
and a chat with some professional friends 
about future arrangements, walked home. He 
found a note from Rose on the table. It told 
him of her flight, and begged him not to try 
to find her out. It would only waste his time, 
and make her wretched, and do no good to 
any one. It told him she would always love 
him, and remember, but that she was very 
57 


58 A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 

unhappy, and hoped he would not make her 
more so. She could not help what had hap- 
pened; it was fate, and they should both 
abide by it. Jack sat on the sofa a long time 
thinking, with the letter in his hand. Then 
he took a fit of reading it, and went over it 
half a dozen times. He seemed to get a 
notion from it that she was not far away, and 
might be easily discovered. After pondering 
the matter over a couple of hours he went 
out. He strolled down toward the Hay- 
market and Argyle Street, and tarried about 
that neighborhood, not well knowing what he 
was doing. He was an easy-going, even- 
tempered fellow, and not in the habit of get- 
ting excited. He felt sure he would run 
across Rose, and he continued to move about 
in the localities she would most likely fre- 
quent. He had no notion in the world that 
she had a new lover; his idea was that she 
had been persuaded by some Italian rene- 
gades to join them. 

Her intelligence, appearance and absence 
of fear fitted her for such a part, and Jack 
had no doubt the cunning plotters had per- 
suaded her to take some hand in a murderous 
scheme. He went to the restaurants and 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


59 


where such men, in slouch black hats and 
long beards, idled away the days and nights, 
but heard no news of her. He searched the 
theaters, thinking she might have gone on the 
stage; but he found no trace of her anywhere. 
He was not disappointed, disheartened or dis- 
pirited, only he grew more serious. After 
six months’ search he was as keen for the hunt 
as the first day and his conviction that he 
would come up with her, was as strong as 
ever. 

His business improved in the meantime and 
he worked hard. It brought him more into 
society too, and he was often at receptions, 
dinners, dances and parties. He belonged to 
a good West End family and was highly con- 
nected. If he had wished to cultivate that 
sort of thing he might have obtained a good 
practice through it, and a rich wife, but it 
was not in his line and he stole away from it. 
His nature was heavily streaked with Bohe- 
mianism, and he was at heart a radical. 

One day he met a young French lady at a 
reception, and was presented to her by his 
mother. She was Gabrielle de Besnard, the 
daughter of the Count Brutus de Besnard and 
a great friend of Jack’s sister. 


6o 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SI.UMS 


She was exquisitely lovel3^ She had one 
of those fine aristocratic faces so rarely seen 
outside of the old Gallic nobility. She was 
very slight and delicate, though in good 
health, but like one of those fragile flowers 
that seemed almost too frail to resist the 
faintest zephyr. She had a low, sweet, clear 
voice, and was lame in the right foot, although 
she managed to carry herself so that it looked 
little more than a halt. 

“I know you quite well,” she said to Jack, 
“although this is the first time I have had the 
pleasure of seeing you.” 

“You are very polite to say so.” 

“It is the truth. Maude has been always 
telling me of her big brother Jack.” 

“I am a big brother, indeed.” 

“That is not a fault.” 

“Thank you. Even if it were it would be 
too late to remedy it now.” 

“Yes, reall3^” 

“Is this your first visit to London.?” 

“Ah, dear no. I have been here frequently 
with my father and my brother.” 

“Ah, you have a brother also.” 

“Yes, a middle-sized brother, who will be 
very glad to make your acquaintance.” 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


6l 


“Is he here now?’! 

“No, in Paris. You come to Paris some- 
times, do you not?” 

“I have been there frequently, but I don’t 
expect to go now for some time. My pro- 
fessional obligations keep me here.” 

“Oh, well, it would be a nice holiday for 
you. Paris is very gay now, and we shall try 
to show you all the sights — Maude is coming 
next week.” 

“I am afraid it would be impossible for me 
to get away next week, but I’ll try and come 
next year.” 

“Oh! my boy, there is no year like the 
present year, and no time like the present,” 
said Count Maurice Belvoir-de-Point D’appui, 
who just joined the group. “Paris was never 
so gay as at this moment.” 

“Thank you, count,” said Gabrielle; “your 
help was needed. Induce him to come over, 
and I will sing your favorite song for you at 
Madame D’Arbloy’s first reception.” 

“Mademoiselle, it is an inducement to 
conquer a savage land,” returned the count, 
bowing low. 

“Then I will leave him to you.” 

“I shall do my utmost, rest assured.” 


62 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


“Why, what is there extraordinary at this 
moment, count?” 

“Everything, sir, everything! The emperor, 
the empress, the balls, the circus, the theaters, 
the opera, and the Princess de Carpegna — 
Ah! sir, there is something extraordinary in- 
deed. The world has never before seen such 
a beauty. She has taken Paris by storm, 
and nothing but her violet eyes, her dazzling 
raven hair, her grace, her voice, her style are 
talked about.” 

Jack became so interested he could not see 
that his sister was endeavoring to coax him 
over to the corner where Gabrielle and she 
were sitting. He drew the count on, and at 
every word he became more and more con- 
vinced the Princess de Carpegna was no other 
than Rose. 

At the conclusion of the count’s enthusiastic 
harangue he said: “Count, I think I shall 
run over, and see what they are doing in the 
theaters.” 

The count laughed. “That was so like an 
Englishman. He was going to Paris to look 
at a woman, and he put it on the theaters — -* 
Puritan to the backbone — well, it was in them. 
What was the use ? After all, they were not 
so bad.” 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 63 

Gabrielle was delighted to hear that she had 
persuaded Jack to accompany them across the 
channel, and so were Maude and her mother. 

They started next day, but several days 
had passed before Jack was able to separate 
himself from the ladies and go in search of 
Rose. 

He heard of her everywhere, but saw her 
nowhere. He almost began to believe she was 
a myth. 

He was standing one day beside a tree in 
the Champs-Elysees watching the carriages 
as they bowled along toward the Bois, and 
was almost on the point of giving up the 
chase on that occasion, when he saw her in 
an open carriage with two gentlemen. As she 
passed him their eyes met, and she leaned 
back in the carriage fainting. She knew him 
in an instant. Gabrielle and Maude were 
directly behind her in a victoria and seeing 
Jack they stopped and took him in it. He 
drove in that way to the Bois, sometimes 
passing Rose as the stream of vehicles arrested 
her and sent him on, impeded him and gave 
her way, opening up opportunities to both to 
study and watch the other as they passed and 
repassed in full view. Rose was furiously 


64 A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 

jealous. The hot Italian blood was dancing 
in her up to the roots of her hair. It was 
plain to any one, man or woman, that 
Gabrielle was in love with Jack. She treated 
him in a proprietary manner that exasperated 
Rose, and the cool way Jack accepted it all 
provoked her still more. It was evident that 
Maude was his sister. She was very like him, 
had the same indifference to surroundings, 
and looked as if nothing could surprise her 
into a betrayal of emotion. Jack dined with 
the Besnards that evening, and the following 
day went out to see after Rose. He got her 
address from a friend in one of the clubs, and 
called at her house. She was out but a note 
that she had left addressed to him was handed 
to him by the servant. It said: “To-night at 
ten at the Cafe de L’Etoile.” 

Rose had gone with a hunting party to the 
forest of Compiegne fearing to trust herself 
that day with Jack. During the afternoon she 
rode down her jealousy and anger, and was 
able to meet him at night with the old smile. 
As soon as they were alone in the cafe she 
said: 

“Now, Jack, you have found me out, and I 
am a good girl, I have come to see you; not a 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 65 

word about parting, or what has happened 
since, or recrimination, or off I go and that’s 
the last of me. Let’s have a good dinner 
like in the old time, and be the best friends 
we may.” 

Jack accepted that, seeing it was all he 
could obtain then, and Rose was as gay as 
ever. She sang for him and danced for him, 
and did all in her power to- make him forget 
their separation. The dinner was a success. 
After that they drove to her house and Jack 
was amazed at the luxury he saw. She took 
him up to her little satin-lined boudoir, seated 
him on a sofa, and took a cushion at his feet. 

“Now, Jack,” she said, “I love you too well, 
and you love me too well, for me to allow 
you to carry away an unjust opinion of me 
in your mind. You have found me in extrav- 
agance and luxury, and going by a name that 
is not mine. It has not been given to me by 
a man. I did not leave you for a man who 
would support me in that style, and make me 
a fashionable woman. I am the center of a 
ring, the tool of a band something like what 
you used to say. I can’t help it. Don’t say 
a word. It is my fate, my destiny, I must 
obey. I am their instrument and they use me 
5 


66 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


at their will. They are doing my work as 
well as their own or I should not be with 
them. I need not go into the whole story 
that leads up to that, but I know if 3'ou heard 
it you would approve.” 

“I would not sanction revenge, Rose.” 

“Yes, you would in this case— but no mat- 
ter. I don’t want to draw you into it. I 
won’t draw you into it. So that you and I 
meet now for the very last time. I am an in- 
strument, and those using me watch every 
turn I make. The very air I breathe is heavy 
with the presence of these men — their eyes 
are always on me. Every movement of my 
day is entered in a big book at night, and at 
the end of the month they can tell me what 
I ate, drank, said and did, and how much 
nearer we have approached to the fulfillment 
of our task. I live like a woman tossing on the 
points of a sea of bayonets, and seeing no re- 
lief in all time. I do not wish you subjected 
to that torture, and you would be subjected 
to it the moment you appeared to visit me. 
They are probably watching you now, and 
wondering what brought you here. So you 
see you must not follow me up, but leave me 
for both our sakes. I saw you to-day with 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


67 


Gabrielle de Besnard. You must leave her 
too. She loves you, but you are not yet in love 
with her — leave her, Jack. There is danger in 
her. Not in the poor child herself — she ap- 
pears to be a sweet, harmless girl, although I 
was madly jealous of her when I saw her near 
you — but on account of others belonging to 
her. The trail of blood flows in her direction. 
Keep away. Jack, my gentle Jack; keep away, 
love. Won’t you.?” 

“I’ll see.” 

“Do for my sake. Leave me something to 
look back to with pleasure and love, some- 
thing that was mine and is secure from the 
furnace that seized me.” 

“Why not fly, and leave it.?” 

“My sweet and simple giant, because I can- 
not, because I would not if I could, because 
it is stronger than I.” 

“Well, Rose, you are an enigma. I don’t 
understand you.” 

“That’s right. Don’t try to. Let me go on 
my own way, and be as little unhappy as you 
can without me.” She jumped to her feet 
and cried: “Do you remember the old 
cachuca. Jack.? Here it is.” 

And she danced out of the apartment into 


68 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


another. When she came back she wore 
only a satin scarf that she carried in her hand 
and flung about here and there as the poses 
of the dance required. She did the bolero, 
the paria, and sang the Saloma, waving the 
scarf with such grace and elegance that Jack 
was several times compelled to applaud. 
Then she wound it round her waist, and stood 
on a stool for a pedestal, and posed in imita- 
tion of the Venuses of several of the great 
masters. She sang until the sound of her 
voice was the only echo in Jack’s mind and 
then went over to the cushion by the sofa and 
laid his head on her panting breast. 


IX 

FATHER AND SON 

Nine o’clock had just struck, and a No- 
vember morning lighted up with its snowy 
reflection the monastic habitation of the 
Count Besnard. The Councilor of State sat 
in his little library working and listening to 
his daughter. He was more morose than 
usual that day, and yet it was the anniver- 
sary of his birthday. It was a custom in the 
family to celebrate the occasion. Gabrielle 
was up at daylight, and presented to her 
father a basket of flowers. Then both sat 
down, and waited for the arrival of Marcel, 
but in vain. After waiting some time the 
young girl went down to his room and re- 
turned pale and frightened. 

“Oh! father, dear, the room is empty; the 
bed has not been slept in; some misfortune 
has happened.” 

The old man shrugged his shoulders, and 

the pain that Marcel had been causing him 
69 


70 A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS ' 

for some time past, broke out from his heart 
through his lips. 

“These are the sons we bring up,” he cried, 
bitterly. “Useless and vicious. A hundred 
times more criminal than the spendthrifts of 
the old nobility. They, at least, were filled 
with a sense of honor, and we — we trample 
it under foot. Oh, society agonized and con- 
demned, whither are you driving.? Let us go 
to church, child.” 

At the church of Saint Vallery the devout 
old man remained plunged in meditation 
longer than usual. Was he praying for his 
son, or his own past.? He returned to the 
house, and father and daughter sat in the 
library looking sadly at one another. No 
word had been received from Marcel. 

“I have a heavy heart this morning,” said 
the count, after a long pause. “Give me a 
little music, child.” 

She had a heavy heart, too, and the tears 
stood in her eyes as she went to the piano. 
She sang an old peasant song, a great favorite 
of the count, and called, “The Complaint of 
the Wheel.” 

Seated in a large chair, the count listened 
in silence, his eyes closed, his hands folded 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


71 


before him. Now and then when a passion- 
ate note rose more sonorously and powerfully 
he looked up and thought, “Her mother’s 
voice; oh, God, shall hers be the same fate.?” 

“That’s enough, my baby,” said the old 
man, waking from his dream. “You are pale 
this morning. Are you suffering.?” 

“A little, father; less than usual on account 
of the day.” 

“It is very dull for you here; I wish you 
would go out more.” 

“Oh! I go out enough, dear father.” 

“You ought to have gone to the ball at the 
Tuileries with your brother last night.” 

“Ah! cruel father, you want to show to the 
world that your little girl is lame.” 

He took her in his arms, exclaiming, “Par- 
,don! I never thought of it; I never do.” 

At that moment Marcel walked into the 
room. He had returned to the house a little 
while before, changed the uniform he had 
worn at the ball for his evening dress, and 
was dressed, gloved and all ready to go out 
again. He held his hat in his hand. Count 
Besnard glanced at his son, and in that glance 
was a world of iron anger. He seated him- 
self without saying a word. Marcel went up 
to him with long strides and said: 


72 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


“My dear father, will you excuse my absence 
this morning? I assure you I could not return 
to the house until this moment. I know I 
ought not to be absent on such a day, but I 
am going to fight a duel.*’ 

The old man bounded on his chair, Ga- 
brielle fainted. Marcel raised her while the 
count rang for her maid, and when she was 
removed from the room the count said: 

“A duel, sir? I compliment you; and what 
is the motive of this duel?” 

“A defense of my honor and yours, my 
dear father.” 

“My honor?” and the old man rose to his 
full height. “Who then has dared to attack 
my honor?” 

“A man in the open court last night; an in- 
solent scoundrel dared to call your family ‘a 
race of hangmen, ’ insulting thus our ances- 
tors, you, my father, us all, in fact. The at... 
tack was public, the reply the same. f 
struck him in the face.” 

“And you are going to kill him,” cried 
Gabrielle appearing in the doorway robed in 
white. “Go!” 

Count Besnard contemplated his son with 
love and pride. He was very pale, but the 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


73 


old fire flashed dangerously in his eye. He 
put his hand out, and grasped that of the 
young man. 

‘‘You did well, my son,’’ he said. “The 
preservation of honor is one of the obligations 
imposed by God. In such a case a duel is 
sanctioned, it is a holy work. It is the safe- 
guard of families, and is right although against 
the law. What is the name of the man?” 

“Prince de Carpegna.” 

“An Italian; ah! I understand. What age 
is he?” 

The son was observing his father; the ex- 
pression of his face alarmed him. He thought 
he heard a heavy anger groaning in the old 
man’s heart, and perhaps a secret desire to 
demand reparation on his own account might 
spring from it. He thought it his duty to tell 
a pious lie. 

“What age? He is about my age. It was 
a simple quarrel of young men.” 

“You are deceiving me. What are the 
conditio.ns of this duel?” 

“Amusing! It is nothing more than a pleas- 
ure party. We exchange balls at twenty-five 
feet and hurry home to breakfast.” 

“You handle the pistol well, I know. Who 
have you for seconds?” 


74 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


“Gravenoire and the Baron La Chesnaye.^^ 

“I would have preferred other men. Where 
are you going to meet ?” 

“At Vancressor, in Gra venoire’s Park.” 

“Very good! I will go with you.” 

The young man put out his hand as if to 
stop his father from moving. 

“No, I beg of you not to do that. It would 
make me look ridiculous.” 

“Ridiculous, eh.?” The count was seized 
with a rush of blood to the head, and fell 
back in the chair heavily. He was quiet for a 
few minutes, and then with an effort once 
more extended his hand to Marcel. 

“That was a cruel word, my son,” he said 
softly, “but let it be. Go, I will remain here, 
and await the result. I do not wish to ren- 
der you ridiculous.” 

“I am going to fight, father,” said Marcel 
at length, seeing that the old count was again 
fully restored, “and to chastise a scoundrel. I 
would like to ask you a question.” 

“A question, my son; go on. I am listen- 
ing.” 

The young man looked fixedly at his father, 
for whom he was going to kill, or be killed, 
and in a voice trembling with emotion said: 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


75 


“What crime did the Italian Lavetti com- 
mit ?” 

The count bounded to his feet, and then 
sank back into the chair in a heap. 

“Lavetti! ah, it is Lavetti who has come 
up — Lavetti! Well, what do you wish to 
know.? That miserable story is only too well 
known.” 

“I know nothing of it. It was mentioned 
in my presence for the first time last night, 
but now I want to be put in full possession of 
the facts. It is time that calumnies should 
be put down, and the truth made known. I 
want to know how that unfortunate man 
came to sacrifice his life.” 

The count did not reply at once. He 
passed his hand over his eyes and forehead, 
as if he were endeavoring to gather the float- 
ing details of the occurrence, and, finally, 
said: “The day following the proclamation 
of the amnesty in December the demagogues 
took the field— bands of insurgents, veritable 
brigands, organized to sweep the country. 
They went into the villages, robbed houses 
and burned churches. They were a lawless 
rabble. At that time I was Attorney General, 
and I was assigned to preside in a mixed com- 


76 A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 

mission. Orders from Paris enjoined me to 
suppress the revolt, and my duty forbid me to 
be weak. Among the insurgents were many 
foolish enthusiasts. I was merciful to them; 
but many others were criminals, and foment- 
ers of anarchy. I was implacable with them. 
There were many Italians among these cut- 
throats, self styled apostles of the universal 
Republic, and the chief of one band was a 
certain Scipione Lavetti, a noted desperado. 
He had campaigned in his own country, 
was a refugee, a Mazzinian, and had been 
proclaimed in France. He was a man with- 
out a country, more dangerous on account of 
education and former position than any other. 
A man who traveled from land to land in 
time of trouble, and made assassination the 
business of his life. Like his associates, he 
dreamed of the dishonor, the destruction, of 
France; Christian and monarchial France, I 
mean, the France of our ancestors. He was 
found on a barricade, and with his own hand 
had struck down the soldiers. The officer 
who commanded the assault made him a pris- 
oner, and although he was severely wounded 
he survived.” 

The count stopped, unable to proceed. 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


77 


“Then they stabbed him twice.” 

“Yes, twice!” gasped the ex- Attorney Gen- 
eral, “because he had killed two men. He 
dared to boast of it in my presence, saying he 
regretted that I was not one of them, for it 
was for me he came into the country; and I 
took the law into my own strong hands.” 
“Oh.” 

“Ah! I know; I know. These are different 
times. We live in peace, but that was the 
time we secured it, and we could only have 
done so by energetic measures. Peace, order, 
the preservation of the country at any price 
was the temper of the moment, and nothing 
less would have saved us. I fear no idle 
tongues. I did my duty. My country endorsed 
the deed, and God and my conscience approve 
it.” 

Marcel held down his head. 

“I know what they have said. Two sol- 
diers! What are two soldiers.^ The humble 
life of the soldier is of no value. It bears 
no comparison to the existence of a citizen; 
but they were robbing and murdering citizens 
too — all who opposed them. A whole army 
was destroyed by the uprising in June, and 
when we sent another to take its place we 


78 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


were called hangmen. It was repeated in your 
hearing last night, and is the cause of your duel 
to-day. Touch one of these gentlemen in the 
clubs, and you’ll hear them cry out ‘Abomin- 
ation!’ and ‘Martyrs!’ A whole regiment was 
riddled in the Boulevard Bonne Nouvelle by 
the guns of the insurgents, and when they 
dared to defend themselves the cry went up, 
‘What infamy!’ These are not my ethics, 
and my conscience is not that of an inventor 
of libels. Scipione Lavetti killed two men; 
he was killed. He wanted to destroy 
France, France destroyed him.” 

“Stabbed twice,” murmured Marcel, with- 
out looking up. 

“I could, like many others,” continued the 
count, “have played the comedy of Pontius 
Pilate, and washed my hands of the business, 
saying, the counsel of war has condemned 
him, let it be responsible. I did not want to. 
I ardently solicited his sentence, I insisted 
on his execution. It was I, really I, who ex- 
ecuted justice. Ah! they know that well, the 
brothers, the friends, the companions, the 
members of the secret societies. Their 
hatred has pursued me since that day. He 
was one of their leading men. A prince and 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


79 


a scoundrel, ready for anything. They have 
insulted me, maligned me, scandalized my 
name, and are at it now again. They are 
implacable. What do I care for their puny 
pursuit, their echoes of the slums? Every 
hour for the last five years, I have given my- 
self up to God, and God has never replied: 
‘There’s blood crying out against you !’ The 
sin of my life is not that — cannot be that — I 
do not regret it.” 

Father and son looked on the ground. 

The old man had made an eloquent de- 
fense, but felt that the son was not satisfied. 
He stretched out his arm, took down a cruci- 
fix from the wall and handing it to Marcel 
said: “Swear on that crucifix that you have 
lied to me. Your duel is a duel to the death 
— I feel it. I know it. Before night, perhaps 
— he who bears my name, who is wrapped 
up in my love, my child, the last of his 
race, will be brought home dead to me for the 
defense of his father’s honor. Look! there 
is my master,” pointing to a large picture of 
Christ over the mantel. “Look! on the cross 
I extend my hand, and repeat, I did my duty. 
I regret nothing.” 

Silence succeeded. Marcel then slowly ap- 


8o 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


proached his father, took his hand, bent on 
one knee and kissed it. 

“Pardon me, father; I doubted like the 
others, but I believe now.” 

The old man took his son in his arms, and 
held him there a long time. Then suddenly 
releasing him, he said: 

“Go, my son, do your duty toward me, 
your own name, and the world. Be faithful, 
as I was to my country and in the day of 
trial God will be by your side.” 

The young man started for the door but 
stopped half way in the middle of the room 
and said: “He has judged us all, father, for 
I shall come back. I bid you a short fare- 
well. And you, my darling sister.” 

Gabrielle kissed him passionately on the 
forehead, and motioned him to go. 

“If he dies, I shall follow him,” said the old 
man to himself when Marcel had left the room. 
“They will pursue him to the end and never 
let him liVe. This was premeditated, pre- 
pared. My boy! my boy!” He trembled from 
head to foot, and could scarcely keep in his 
chair. He was seized with chills, and a cold 
sweat broke out on his temples. Gabrielle 
rang for the servants and they brought hot 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS * 


8l 


drinks and towels, but the old man went 
from one fit into another. Everything in the 
room seemed to swim before him and he mur- 
mured: “Lavetti! ah! Lavetti!” while his 
head dropped heavily. Finally he became 
unconscious and they sent for the doctor. 


X 

SEEING THE TOWN 

Jack met the ladies at breakfast in the 
Hotel Meurice the next morning, and pro- 
posed a day’s tramping through the city. They 
were delighted, and started almost imme- 
diately. They called for Gabrielle and one 
or two other young people, and Jack added 
some friends from the club. It was quite a 
large party before it got under way, and 
Maude Burroughs managed so that Jack had 
charge of Gabrielle. She was in ecstasy; she 
was very much in love with the big English- 
man and was so excited at her good luck in 
being under his charge that she laughed and 
talked all day. Jack had no notion of the 
situation, and handled the girl as if she were 
a wax figure. They went about from point 
to point, beginning with Notre Dame and 
ending up at Versailles where they dined. 
Jack was in capital humor, and Maude placed 
it to the account of Gabrielle. She said so 
82 


A PRIM A DONNA OF THE SLUMS 83 

to her, on the way home, and the poor frail 
cripple replied: 

“No, dear, you are wrong. He thinks no 
more of me than a bird in the forest he has 
heard sing and admired. I am nothing to 
him. Don’t try to persuade me. I love him 
with all my heart, and I shall never love any 
one else on earth. He is very bright to>day, 
but it is not on our account. I have watched 
him, his mind is somewhere else. It may be 
business; I think it is love. I wish him success 
in every one of his undertakings, even that.” 

Jack and his friends left the ladies at their 
homes, and started out to stretch their legs 
along the boulevards. Jack managed to es- 
cape in a little while and drove to the house 
in which he had seen Rose the previous night. 
It was all dark, but he knocked. While he 
was ringing the bell a black looking figure 
passed, and scowled at him. Jack smiled. 
He thought to himself, “That fellow is some 
private policeman, and is trying to play de- 
tective.” Presently another came by, and then 
a third, and Jack said to himself: “Hello! 
the whole band is out for an airing. I wonder 
what’s up.” A man came along the garden 
of the adjoining house just then, and seeing 
Jack knocking for admission said to him: 


84 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


“The people who lived there moved out to- 
day.” 

“Thank you,” replied Jack. 

“I saw them take away the furniture.” 

“Thanks,” said Jack again, and he moved 
off. 

When he was about half way up the street 
a man stepped out of a dark passage-way and 
addressing him, said: 

“You had better get back to the Temple; 
this is no place for you.” 

“You had better mind your own business,” 
said Jack, trying to distinguish the man’s face. 

“I am minding my own business, and yours 
too, in giving you a friendly warning.” 

“You ought to wait until you are asked for 
it.” 

“It might be too late.” 

“It’s too early now.” 

“Time will show. What you are after is not 
for you, and you will not be allowed to inter- 
fere with the work of others.” 

“That’s a threat.” 

“As you like.” 

“I’d like to get a grip on your throat.” 

“Some one will get a grip on your throat if 
you are not careful.” 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 85 

Jack made a dash for the fellow, but he dis- 
appeared in the night. 

“Phew,” said the big fellow, “if they think 
to frighten me by such tricks as that they are 
mistaken. The cowardly hounds, that’s like 
them, working in the dark. They are quite 
capable, however, of running a stiletto into me. 
I must buy a pistol. I wonder where Rose 
went off to. She said she was going, but I 
did not believe her. I’ll find her, and then 
I’ll make sure of her.” 

He went home, rolled into bed and slept 
soundly until the next morning. 

He did not find Rose the next day. There 
was not a sign of her in her usual resorts. 
She had disappeared again as completely as 
when she left Jack in the Temple. He was 
not down-hearted, although he was disap- 
pointed, but he went on with his search dog- 
gedly, and with the perseverance of his kind. 


XI 


GABRIELLE 

Dismissed by her father, pale and trembling, 
Gabrielle sought her own room. It was a 
charming apartment, white and blue. The 
count had selected the furniture. It looked 
as if it had been made for the use of a fairy. 
The bed was a marvel of lightness and grace, 
and the mirror and prie-dieu and toilet table 
had been fitted up by a hand that reverenced 
everything about them. The little library 
with its pious books, and the religious pict- 
ures, the crucifix, and the beads were all put 
there by the father who adored his lame child. 
Gabrielle entered and turned her eyes away 
from the God of Mercies and the Mother of 
Griefs. She sat down near the window, at 
her little writing desk, and remained some 
time in thought. Then taking a sheet of 
paper, she wrote: 

“To my father. — If Marcel is killed to-day 
I will not survive him. I wish to die. I im- 
8C 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


87 


plore the clemency of Jesus, and that of the 
Holy Virgin, on my knees, and ask your par- 
don, father. Knowing that I am an object of 
laughter and repulsion to others I have suf- 
fered a great deal and wish to be at peace. I 
leave my fortune to John Wellington Bur- 
roughs of London. He may make what use 
he pleases of it.” She closed the letter and 
laid it on her desk then went over to the prie- 
dieu and prayed aloud to God to give her 
strength for the task she had determined upon. 
She said she loved Jack Burroughs and could 
not live without him. He was indifferent 
to her and did not even suspect that she 
adored him. She next implored the Holy 
Virgin to change his heart and to give her 
courage to die. She thought her brother 
would not come home, and if he did not she 
would make that the pretext for poisoning 
herself. 

‘^Oh!” she cried, “if he would only take me 
up in his great strong arms and let me die 
there like a butterfly, I would be happy for- 
ever more. He loves another and my life is 
ended here. I have no place on earth, no 
home.” 

Just then a knock came to the door, and a 


88 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


servant announced that her father was dan 
gerously ill. 

She flew down to his room. 


XII 

TWO PISTOL SHOTS 

Along the high, wide causeway which, brush- 
ing Ganche and Vancresson, turns toward 
Saint Germain, the landau of Marcel drove 
rapidly. It was a bright, cold day, and snow 
was falling. The gentlemen in the carriage 
appeared to be in very good humor. La Ches- 
naye and Gravenoire smoked and chatted as 
placidly as if they were going to some supper 
at the Maison-d’Or. Marcel Besnard was a 
little more reserved, even taciturn. He was 
leaning back in the caleche, beside the gay 
old chamberlain. In front of them sat Gra- 
venoire and the doctor. The pistols were in 
a box on the knees of Gravenoire. 

“Ah! my friend,” said the baron to Marcel, 
“what a sad pleasure party a duel is. You are 
going to play the first part. Happy young 
man I How I would like to be in your place. 
Tell me, Gravenoire, are you satisfied with 
these pistols ?” 


89 


90 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


He opened the box, as he spoke, and took 
the weapons out. 

“Duelling pistols, according to agreement. 
I selected them carefully. They are hard on 
the trigger, so there is nothing to fear.” 

“So much the worse,” said Marcel. “I wish 
to give a lesson to-day that will serve for all 
time.” 

“We have prepared a little note of expla- 
nation for the papers,” said Gravenoire. 

“What sort of persons are the seconds on 
the other side.^” asked Marcel. 

“Italians,” replied La Chesnaye. “One is 
called Count Cannassa, the other Signor Tra- 
venti.” 

“Ah! per Baccof what a sample he is,” ex- 
claimed Gravenoire. “Imagine, this morning, 
when we met them, I thought I recognized 
an old acquaintance, an Italian who served 
in the Foreign Legion, where I commanded a 
battalion. He was called Marino, and was a 
wolf if one ever got into the shape of a man. 
He hunted the Arabs so well that he was 
made a non-commissioned officer, but one 
day he deserted and joined Mazzini at Rome. 
My foxy 3^oung man frequented at that time 
a young person — hum — of the tribe of Bene 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


91 


— Mouffetard, a singer at the Prado de Oran. 
She called herself Steelheart — pretty name, 
is it not.^ And there is so much in a name for 
a singer. She was a superb woman, and had 
a glorious voice.” 

“Ah!” said the baron, putting his head out 
of the window, “we are late; the others are 
waiting for us. This is the spot.” 

“You are right,” said Gravenoire, “this is 
•the place, and they are on the ground before 
us. But that is of little consequence. It is 
the leaving this spot that will be interesting. 
There is a hired coach in front of the little 
hotel, and two men are walking up and down 
impatiently. We shall be there in a minute, 
gentlemen. These are no doubt the seconds 
of our adversary. I will go and furnish them 
with my indications, and all they will have to 
do will be to follow us.” 

He jumped out of the carriage and went 
over to the two men. 

“Say! say! say! Hello! Gravenoire !” cried 
out La Chesnaye, still hanging out of the car- 
riage window. “Thunder and lightning! what 
a pretty coupe! Thoroughbred horse! new 
livery! And the blinds down. What does that 
all mean.!* i suspect, a lady.” 


92 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


Gravenoire was already too far away to 
hear a word, but it was not many minutes 
before he returned. 

“Who owns that coupe?” asked the curious 
old chamberlain. “You live down here, you 
ought to know.” 

“No, I don’t really,” said Gravenoire; “but 
come, let us get along!” 

“Here we are in my place at last,” said 
Gravenoire, ordering the coachman to pull up. 

All got out, and at the same moment the 
other carriage drove up. 

Escorted by his seconds, the Prince de Car- 
pegna got out of his carriage. He was also 
attended by a physician. The ordinary polite- 
nesses of such occasions were passed, then, 
guided by Gravenoire, the whole party went 
into a corner of the park. Presently the sun 
came out, cold, clear, and bright. Marcel 
had piously lied to his father. The meeting 
was a serious one, and the duel was bound to 
be one of the most dangerous. The Prince 
de Carpegna, struck in public, had himself 
laid down the conditions. The adversaries 
were to be placed twenty yards apart and 
then take five steps in advance and given one 
minute to sight and fire; one or other, both, 
perhaps, must fall. 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


93 


La Chesnaye was selected by common 
accord to direct the combat. It was a deli- 
cate mission, because it was difficult to walk 
comfortably among the slippery fallen leaves. 
But the baron was an old hand, and used to 
the ways of the field of honor. He counted 
twenty yards, marked the spot where the 
combatants ought to stand at the outset of 
the action, and then with his cane traced the 
line beyond which neither should step. Fate 
favored Marcel Besnard in the choice of weap- 
ons. These preparations terminated, each 
man was placed at his post, and the seconds 
ranged themselves on either side. 

‘‘Go, gentlemen,” called out La Chesnaye. 

Marcel advanced, stretched out his arm, 
and fired. 

Touched. The Prince de Carpegna, struck 
in the breast, staggered. The next moment 
he stood erect. Slowly, dragging his feet 
after him, he walked to the line, lowered 
his pistol, and aimed at Marcel. 

The latter crossed his arms and waited 

“Fire! Fire!” cried Gravenoire, as the old 
man hesitated. 

“Fire!” cried the Baron La Chesnaye furi- 
ously. 


94 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


The Prince de Carpegna was about to pull 
the trigger, but a slight noise in the hedge 
caused him to turn his eyes. He looked stead- 
ily a moment, and then broke out into a fit 
of strange laughter. Raising his arm he fired 
in the air. The next instant he fainted, and 
fell to the ground. The seconds rushed to his 
assistance, and the doctors examined the 
wound. The prince had a rib broken and 
was losing a good deal of blood. 

“Take him into my cottage,” said Grave- 
noire. “I have had a room prepared.” 

“Useless, my dear sir,” replied Traventi. 
“If his excellency could speak, he would re- 
fuse.” 

“But he cannot ride to Paris in that condi- 
tion. It would kill him.” 

The Italian doctor appeared much per- 
plexed, and wanted them to accept the offer 
of Gravenoire, but the seconds would not 
listen to him. 

“It is a dangerous wound,” he said. “A 
very dangerous wound — bad, very bad!” 

“Never mind,” said Traventi, “let us get 
away.” 

The other second had already gone in search 
of the carriage. The surgeons stopped the 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


95 


bleeding — not without trouble— and then the 
wounded man was carried out of the little 
park. He was lifted into the carriage and 
driven off. Standing in the middle of the road 
the friends of Marcel looked after the carriage 
as it disappeared in the dust. 

“Gentlemen,” said the doctor, “by the 
time they arrive in Paris they will bear a 
corpse.” 


XIII 


ROSE 

Amazed and thoughtful, Marcel remained a 
little in the background. Gravenoire ap- 
proached him and said: 

“A very pretty shot, my friend — capital, 
bravo! But what a strange duel! It reminds 
me of a famous fantasy of a Russian writer. 
You remember Pouch Kine’s shot.” 

“Yes, I know,” said Marcel, who little by 
little was returning to himself; “the combat 
in which the insulted man submitted to the 
fire of his adversary, and kept his reply for a 
better occasion — we shall see.” 

“Gentlemen,” cried La Chesnaye, lighting 
his fifteenth cigar, “a motion. Here is the 
night, and we are hungry; suppose we go and 
celebrate the victor in a little supper at the 
Maison-d’Or !” 

“I cannot go with you,” said Marcel. “I 
must first see my father and embrace him.” 

They left the park, and got into their car- 
96 




% 



I 


♦ 


V' 

V* 






t 

I* .V 




n 




« 




I 


* 




r •*/ 


•* 


I 


v*: . 

'> - . 



/♦ 



t 







1 





i‘ *• ■ . 


I 

I 


4 

« 


, » • 

I 

I 

•» 




I 




* 

ft • 


f 


I 


' f 

< 

-« I 




. ' 

' I 



■ I 






HE PULLED UP IN FRONT OF A CAFE. 




A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 57 

riage. A moment later they were rolling along 
to Paris. They had hardly disappeared when 
a woman pushed her way cautiously through 
the bushes. She crept to the middle of the 
road, and watched the laudau bury itself in 
the night, and in a high voice, and gesticulat- 
ing like a comedienne, she cried: 

“Awkward old fool, to allow himself to be 
killed! A veritable suicide ! Bungler! Well, 
he is gone, and now it shall be a duel between 
you and me, Brutus Besnard. From this day 
out we are in the field, and it is a fight to the 
death, white mouth!” 

Her coupe was waiting at a turn of the 
road, she entered it, and was driven to Paris. 
She put her head out of the window and told 
the coachman to drive to Passy. Ten minutes 
later she bade him stop. He pulled . up in 
front of a cafey a low, insignificant cabaret of 
the outskirts. The woman went in, asked 
for a pen and ink, then, in the musty smell 
of the mud, under the foul smoke of dirty 
pipes, traced some lines on a visiting card: 

“To Monsieur the Viscount Marcel de Bes- 
nard: 

“I was there — I saw all, and without wait- 
ing any longer, on the road even of the com- 
7 


98 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


bat, I take the liberty of writing to you. You 
have chastised an insolent man, and avenged 
your father. One ought always to avenge his 
father. If Garden Street at Passy does not 
seem to you the end of the world, come and 
see me. I am waiting. Rose. 

“Born Countess d’ A Prata, — free at last.” 


XIV 

LOVERS AT LAST 

Marcel rushed up the stairs into his father’s 
room, and found it darkened, and a doctor in 
attendance. Gabrielle threw her arms around 
his neck and fainted. She was restored, and 
embracing him again and again, became at 
length hysterical, and had to be removed to 
her own apartments. Marcel stepped softly 
to the bedside of his father. Presently the 
old man opened his eyes, and looked steadily 
at him. “I was dreaming that I saw him, 
was looking at him, saw him smile, but it is 
no dream; it is reality.” 

“My boy! My boy!” he broke forth, rising 
on the bed, and throwing his arms around 
his son’s neck. The doctor tried to get him 
to keep quiet and lie down again, but the old 
count insisted he was well and needed no 
more treatment. Marcel took a chair and sat 
down beside him. There he recounted all 
that had occurred, omitting no detail, and the 
99 


lOO 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


old man’s face glowed with pride and satis- 
faction. He was not over-pleased with the 
termination of the affair, and could not under- 
stand why the prince had fired in the air. He 
had strength enough and plenty of time to fire 
at his opponent, according to Marcel’s 
account. Why did he wait, lose such an op- 
portunity, and fire in the air.^ The old count 
thought it over and over and could not make 
it out. 

“I wish I had been there,” he said finally, 
‘H wish I had been there.” 

“All the details were most satisfactorily 
arranged,” said Marcel. 

“They were all Italians on the other side.?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, the main thing is that you defended 
our honor, and are here, but I don’t like the 
end. That strange laugh, that shot in the air. 
When his man was in front of him with 
folded arms. There was some trick in it. The 
end is not yet. You will be careful, the fight 
is only deferred.” 

“I will, indeed.” 

“There was some one present you did not 
see, and he did. That caused the sudden 
change in the programme. When he advanced 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


lOI 


he meant to kill but he changed his mind in 
obedience to a superior will or power. But 
he is dead. We have no more to do with 
him. Now that you are here I am well again. 
Go into your sister’s room and talk to her. 
We shall have a good dinner to-day.” 

The old man was as good as his word, and 
after dinner Marcel strolled out to the club, 
to show himself. The duel was already the 
talk of the town. He was handed a note 
about ten o’clock and at once set out for the 
Hermitage at Passy. He was received with 
open arms. The Hermitage was a charming 
dwelling, elegant, and almost too sumptuous. 
It was surrounded by a well kept garden, and 
within had the flavor of a candy-box, exhal- 
ing even something of the odor of the kept 
woman. But bah! Italian women are pas- 
sionately fond of the clinking of gewgaws. 
This one appeared so candid — a truly honest 
woman, Marcel thought, because he had 
received certain confidences. The prin- 
cess had related her history to him at 
the very first interview. It was to the ef- 
fect that when she was quite young, al- 
most an infant, her parents married her 
through vainglory to a queer old man of 


102 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


loose habits. He was a wicked fool, a former 
member of the Carbonari, a drinker of blood, 
a ferocious beast. “I could also,” she said, 
with tears in her eyes, “I could, like so many 
others, have taken up a fad, chosen a lover, 
but the Holy Virgin and, above all, the pious 
memory of my sainted mother preserved me 
from a fall. I never knew love. I have 
never known it till now. Where could 1.^ 
How could I.^ Why should I.^ I am free to- 
night, free from all the bonds that bound me, 
and I am in love.” 

The next day Marcel returned to Garden 
Street. And the next, and the next, and Rose 
kept falling deeper and deeper in love. So 
did Marcel. 

To hide her from the world, and have her 
all to himself, he took her to his chateau at 
Cary de Valmont. It was no sooner known 
in the vicinity that he was there with a wo- 
man and an Italian than the gossips went to 
work, and he soon lost his good name. It 
was not long before they knew that he had 
inherited the widow of the man he had killed 
in a duel and the whole country round was 
shocked. The Count Raoul Dersirie Roche- 
albert broke off the marriage arranged between 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS IO3 

Count Besnard and himself for his daughter 
and Marcel, so that the scandal was not long 
in reaching the paternal mansion in Paris. 

Marcel cared nothing for it all, he hardly 
heard of it, he was living like a dove in a cote 
with his cooing companion and was happy, 
now he had her in his home, the beautiful 
Rose. He had her all to himself, in the sol- 
itude of his chateau. He was in love, madly 
in love, in heart, and soul. 

But she! — Sometimes he founjd her sad, 
strangely sad, taciturn, and hopeless. 

“I love you,” she used to say to him, “and 
I have a horror of myself, a scorn.” 

It was no doubt a feeling of lessening in her 
own esteem. She was suffering in her finer 
nature the results of her fall. It came from 
remorse, maybe also from religious scruples. 

Marcel resolved that they should be married 
at once, without even speaking to her on the 
subject. It was necessary to silence the cal- 
umny, at all events. 

For that matter calumny had wasted its 
time. Its little clamor gave small trouble 
to the disdainful and indifferent master of 
Lasseville. He was living in the most abso- 
lute solitude, renouncing pleasure parties, 


104 ^ PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 

shortening his days, prolonging his nights, and 
all for his beloved. But she did not imitate 
that reserve — w^as less discreet, less modest 
even, and abandoned herself without con- 
straint to the fury of her passion. She was 
thoroughly Italian; besides, intelligent, in- 
structed, and very superstitious. She gave 
proof of it every instant; she had a purpose too 
in hand, and was getting restive over its 
accomplishment. Every now and again hints 
were sent to her that she was wasting time, 
and would soon be needed in another place. 
All that made her impatient, and at times 
ill-tempered. 

Thoughts of Jack would come into her mind, 
and at such times she would rush out into the 
woods alone. She would clinch her fists, and 
beat the air, and shake the blanches violently, 
as if to make them pay for her neglect of 
him. She knew he was prowling about Paris, 
looking for her, and she sent word to those 
with whom she was in league, that if a hair 
of his head were touched, she would balk 
them all. They knew she was capable of 
keeping her word, and Jack traveled around 
night and day unmolested. 

One evening, under the shade of the lamp, 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS I05 

Marcel and Rose, pressed one against the 
other, were translating Alighieri, and read- 
ing the adventure of Francesca in the Infer- 
no — exchanging kisses at every line; they 
came to these memorable verses, the most 
beautiful, perhaps, of the divine poet: 

“Love which does not grant the gift of 
loving to any creature loved, would intoxicate 
me so quickly with the happiness of my lover, 
that — ” 

Rose tore the book suddenly from Marcel’s 
hands and flung it away. Marcel looked at 
her stupefied. 

“Dante is right, she said, “love is an 
accursed contagion;” adding in a lower voice, 
“ah, my love, you must not read the last lines.” 

He took up fhe book, and read the last lines. 

They said — “Love has conducted us both 
to the same death.” 


XV 


A COMPACT OF LOVE 

M. Oscar Varin Court, the little notary of 
Lasseville, brought a slight interruption to the 
serenity of the chateau on the third of Sep- 
tember. He arrived there about five o’clock 
in the evening, passed the house and went 
along the Park. At the extremity of a long 
alley of tall trees he perceived Marcel and 
Madame de Carpegna, going along in a very 
loving fashion. On hearing him approach, 
Marcel turned, and could not repress a gest- 
ure of ill-humor. 

“Ah! It’s you, M. Varin Court! What happy 
thought brings you here But in his heart 
he wished the notary at the bottom of the sea. 

“Excuse my importunity, viscount,” said 
the notary solemnly, “I have an important 
communication to make to you; a letter to 
read to you from the councilor of state him- 
self.” 

“From my father,” cried Marcel in aston- 
106 



AT THE EXTREMITY OF A LONG ALLEY OF TALL TREES HE PERCEIVEL 
MARCEL AND MADAME DE CARPEGNA. 











I p^. . 1 


^i' 


• * 




: "' 

.'• •> I ’^^^'■# r',‘ 


\ *• 


T 

r- 


/ 





.If' 


• . * 


» f>' 


k k 


' •' /> . 


•' I 

A 


« 

• I 
« 


''• • . I 

*>> *" 


V . 


^ V.-. 

’ I 

•r. 


i V :#■'*.*' r ', ■' . • ■ '. ’ V<i 

/ • » 1'* * *»V 

‘ ••'*..• , < ^4 . 


ft . 


• I 


^ ' 

T V ' , ,• 

» 

• 1 


I *" 


■ >, .' 


fi'*' 




’ . . r\ ' ' • 


\ 


ft 

k ;. 


\ 


r- 

. & ' 

« » • 

I • 


\ K 




rf. vf 


ft 


/ 

t 

V ♦. • 


» « * 

• ^ 

r / 


f '. 


K 




* r 


> » • t 

• • V* 


• t 

ft ■ 








■/"V* 1 




,v 






'f., 


ft 

• » 


.*• . ft. 


* ft « 


H- 

ft 


S f ' 

.’ .. ''/ • 

.v>., ♦ T.V- 

• f 0 

I 


•I 


C>'' 




• , 


►■ • » ft 


- . - A . ;. . ft » , . 

• . i,«* '• • 

■• ’ • * '• t ■ • ' *' 4 -^ ^ * .M A 

■ . ft * ^ • 

• . '. ',. I < 1 ', » » . .ft* A 

■' -■ 

' « *■ 




ft ‘/v-';'. 


• ft. » ft-' ^ *>• 

* . - . 


ft '• . ■ ft," ' '^."x\ 

I, , . . ' 

** • ^ I A . 


.tt 

k. 


ft k 

• to 


,'/h: (- -ftiii 





V - •' 

' » • 

‘ r.' /■• 


^ >/ 


j • 


if •* 


• V5^ S'! "<iK - r .. 

I • 


ff k 
♦ » 


**• ' I 


• - V '.•■<^V ’ T" "> 

‘N.,' ft.' \'€*' 

* ’ ' *•* ft/Zk » - 


• ft ■ '.kV , 




t . 



• % 


If 


I* S‘ 


> p 


« 

ftft* 






♦ s 


. 


• I 


f 

W 

• ’*1* ' I 

•' '/'t 


t t 


I 

-• I 

» 

* 


‘I .♦ 




1 


't.- * 


• 




V ' »•• ^ 


» * 


I 

'« I 




to 

0 . 


• . '• 

•• 


^ • 






. ( 


I 


.to. ' * • 1 

^ 


1- 


• • •-!»/ , ft I 

’ . 'l 'ft* 




0 9 


* to ^ 


I 




I 


' ' 


« « 
V' • ‘f .' 
>• 


■ . 4* ■ 

ft % ' 'J^ _ 


% 

% 

'3 


',T 

• •' • k ’C 


\ k ft . » 



• ^ * ft 




i , 


» . . k to ',4 ft. 


•ft./' 


OL 

% < 

i \ 

- 


« I', .*' . . 

*'• 

- ; V >■• • 

. *1 * ^ ft 

' ' ' f ' 4 • ’ ft 1 

4'/ ftto. ft ’ 

; . • • 


• 0 
•% 

to ■. 


•V '-* 


' 1 * 9. 

• 1, I) « 4 ^ 


. - !.%*':• ft 


I ' • '. v 

ft. ft.'* '.‘ft 




V '♦ 


\ I 

ft 


. ft 


. >1 


T V'^- 


.to 


,‘4 




, * 


*» 


V 

•i * ' 


• 0 


' . r •' V 


• * 

\ *■ 


^ 4 


v" 

«}»'•! 

ft- ft- . , ^ • 

‘ < ^ '■ 

: f .. .• ••-*-.*,♦• 


ft* • I 


, 1 ■ J . ■ 

'• •*-.*,♦ 

. ■ *' i- 

, • * 

■ r 

, / 

• 

4 

’ 1 

1 

J 

« 

• ■ to . 

' . > ■• , 


* < » 

, 1 

fti 

v ‘ 

w'_ Vl 

> 

0 


I' * 


j ' 

« to 
ft * 

• < - 


« 

• ' 


r 


••■ '■. "ft? 

to, 

^ . • I «. • ftfc. wkA ft 


/■ f i * ’ 

A .s : » 

■'•^ to ' 


• » 


• ■. . •, ‘ * ■: • . i 

.,, . •' ,t I A’to >•’ ■• rV .-'-r ■ ■ •' 

■ . ft . V 


V- \. 


' ,. , ft. •* , P ^ ’ ♦ I • ft < V '. *. .ft.4tofc . 

» • #''» a« to '•■* ;,»».« .ft* -*" 

‘i . ft »■ • .% • » ; . • ’ .^ * * ' *•'.'•■ ■ -ft^• \ ' ' ! 

- V'-'" - ■■•■ :.■ .',.■ - ■ 'VA' - 


.♦I'ft * V?'.*« - ^.-* .fcktofc -J 

• ■* ;, ft».* ^ •'’ ' : . . - ft 

' '.ft .‘^•'ft M to, .■ • ,aV • ’ ft . ' i, ' ■»-' ■.■>•,* !• 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


107 


ishment. “Be seated, I will listen to you.” 

Not far from where they stood w^as a rustic 
bench on which the three sat down. Oscar 
Varin Court spread upon his knees a napkin 
full of papers, and composing his face into 
the right expression said: 

“Have you not recently written to the 
Count Brutus Besnard.?” 

“Yes, quite recently, to inform him of my 
intention to marry Madame La Princess de 
Carpegna.” 

“Marcel, that was ink thrown away,” said 
the princess, laughing. 

“The councilor of state,” said the notary, 
“has deigned to address me a letter, and I 
bring you his reply.” 

“His reply! sent to you, and not to me.?” 

“I am sorry, viscount, but here it is.” 

Varin Court held out the letter. Marcel 
took it and read it aloud. Rose rested her 
head on his shoulder, her eyes half closed 
and heavy with languor, and listened smiling. 
The letter was hard and dry, and said: 

“Monsieur, one of the clients of your office, 
M. Marcel Besnard, has just advised me of 
his project of marriage. I have already often 
made known to this young man the pain he 


Io8 A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 

has caused me by his conduct. But as neither 
prayers nor reprimands have availed to put 
an end to an abominable scandal I have 
broken off all relations with my son. I pray 
you then to become my interpreter, and carry 
him my reply. That reply is this: In the 
old time, a gallant man would have had a 
scruple about marrying the widow of a man 
who had insulted his family, been chastised 
after, and by him killed in a duel. The in- 
jury, the insult — like the bloodshed — would 
have dug an impassable abyss between his 
passion and his honor. It appears we are in 
different days, and there is a new code of 
morals. For myself I hold to the old one. 
If then the conscience of M. Marcel no longer 
knows how to make itself heard, it becomes 
the duty of his father to speak, clearly and 
firmly. Not wishing to become the accom- 
plice of a villainy, I refuse — once for all — my 
consent. Your client is now at liberty to do 
without it. In that case I shall demand the 
regular process at law, and will not be de- 
nied it. I wish it, I insist on it. 

“For the rest you may say to my son that 
he will not have a long time to wait. I am ill 
and he knows I am ill. 

“Yours very truly. 


Besnard. 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS I09 

Marcel was quiet and nervous. He tossed 
the gravel on the walk around with his cane. 

“Well, what have you resolved on.?” asked 
M. Varin Court. “He is certainly very pre- 
cise. 

“The refusal of the paternal consent sets 
you at liberty to invoke article 1 52 of the Code 
Napoleon. Will you bring suit to compel 
him, and make him give his reasons, or get an 
order from the court to do without his con- 
sent for insufficiency of cause ? I know a lawyer 
in Paris who will handle the matter skillfully 
and quietly. I will write to him. In the 
meantime it will be necessary for Madame 
La Princess, born Demoiselle d’A Prata, to 
communicate with her notary in Italy. I shall 
need certain papers, certificates of her parents’ 
marriage, her birth, and so forth.” 

“Oh, my, what a lot of business,” broke 
in Rose. “I would rather take poison like 
Juliet at once, and be united to Romeo. I 
don’t wish any of that nonsense; none of it; 
no! no! no! I prefer to wait.” 

She pronounced the word “wait” in a tone 
of such stinging hate that the son of the Count 
Besnard became pale. 

“I’ll think this matter over,” he said, “and 


no 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


will let you know in a little while. Come 
back one of these days, my dear M. Varin 
Court.” 

The judicious Varin Court took back the 
catalogue, put it in an envelope, and the en- 
velope in a bundle. Then he rose and made 
two low bows. A moment later, the small 
shadow of the man disappeared in the turn of 
the alley. 

The lovers were alone. 

“How foolish that was of you, Marcel,” said 
the princess, impetuously; “what’s the good 
of being married.?” 

“It is necessary, my dear Rose; our posi- 
tion has become very delicate.” 

“Oh! the common people, with their 
scruples; what do we care for them! Would 
you love me better if you were married to me.?” 

“No, certainly not. But I would love you 
then in my heart forever.” 

She looked at him fixedly a moment and 
said: “Forever! I know a tie stronger than 
marriage — it is death; when a person loved — 
mistress or lover— deceives the other, the latter 
should kill him, and then kill himself.” 

A long silence followed and accentuated 
this profession of passionate faith. 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


III 


“So be it!” said Marcel at last. “It is a 
compact, I accept it.” They continued their 
promenade, which had been interrupted by 
the notary, and were soon gay and laughing. 


XVI 


THE WILD ROSE 

Day was declining as they returned to the 
castle — an autumn day, a lingering reminder 
of summer. They walked slowly and dreamily. 
He had his arm around her waist, and she 
leaned her head on his shoulder. They 
stopped on coming to the border of the table- 
land, and gradually waking, as if from a 
dream, looked all around. Before them 
spread out the valley of the Dalles. Rose 
gently disengaged herself from her lover’s em- 
brace, and stood in mute admiration of the 
beautiful scene before her. 

“Oh! what a lovely autumn night,” she 
cried, with enthusiasm, “and what a beautiful 
country is your France!” 

“Why ‘your France,’ Rose.^” demanded her 
companion; “shall it not be henceforth yours 
— shall it not be ‘our France.?’ It cannot be 
my country, unless it is also yours.” 

She shook her head. “I know, I know. 

112 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS II3 

‘Thy God shall be my God, thy people, my 
people’. No, I shall remain myself. Ah!” 
she continued with vehemence, “a splendid 
country is your France! And yet she calls 
forth the bitterest hate. Once, the mistress 
of nations; to-day — 

“That’s a verse from Dante,” said Marcel, 
“but he spoke of your Italy.” 

“My Italy! She is also miserable. A con- 
vict riveted to his chains. But the Italy — the 
land that we have dreamed about — at least 
knows how to curse, and can always weep.” 

“Rose,” broke in the young man, wishing 
to cut short the painful dialogue, rather than 
wound what was loyal and patriotic, “tell 
me of yourself, of your family, of your hills, 
of your valleys. Recite for me again that 
sonnet of your favorite author, Leopardi.” 

“No!” she answered, “not that one, an- 
other.” 

“Very good, whichever you prefer.” 

She took some steps backward, and com- 
posing her face until it resembled that of the 
great Rachel, about to enter on the scene, re- 
mained in deep study for a moment. She then 
rose to her full height, and moved forward in 
a theatrical manner, redolent of fire and maj- 
8 


1 14 A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 

esty. Her drapery seemed to hang loosely 
about her, and form a sort of background to 
her pale, flexible features, her hair was di- 
sheveled, the arms stretched out and moving 
gracefully through the air, every now and 
again Lavetti declairned one of the bitterest 
poems ever written against France. 

Marcel, the son of the Count Besnard, stood 
listening to her, fascinated, spell-bound, his 
soul in arms, his heart weeping, love for the 
mistress of his being overpowering his reason, 
and in a sort of delirium at the burning words 
that seemed to fall like liquid fire from her 
lips; he felt as if drawn into perdition by the 
loss of honor, home, country, family, and all 
that man respects. When she had finished, 
and he could breathe once more, he cried out 
indignantly: 

“What abominable invective, and what 
fierce and burning hate! Who wrote those 
verses. 

“My father!” with a lofty gesture. 

“Your father.^” 

“Yes, my father. He of whom I have so 
often spoken to you, and whose name you 
seem ever to avoid.” 

“I am sorry ; I should like to have known your 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS I15 

father. He certainly did not know France. 
He was jealous of her. He feared that her 
eminence injured Italy. He was wrong. His 
Italian jealousy cried out in vain. What is 
immotral cannot die! Why did your father 
not admire France.^” 

“He.? He loved it with the ardor of a son. 
His love for France cost him his life.” 

“His love for France cost him his life.?” 

“It did.” 

“The Count d’A Prata.?” 

“That is!”— 

“Your father.?” 

“Why — yes.” 

“What are you saying, Rose.?” 

“Nothing,” murmured Rose, becoming pale, 
fearing that she had gone too far. He looked 
at her a moment compassionately, smiled, and 
said: 

“The words of the poet have carried you 
away, or rather I should say, your genius in 
giving them expression has worked upon youi 
nervous system until you take one thing for 
another. Come to me,” and he opened wide 
his arms to her. “I am your own, your true, 
devoted lover, and I will love you the same 
in any land, and under whatever sun, our lot 
may lead us.” 


Il6 A PRIJNIA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 

She recoiled instinctively, although she 
went forward to him. She shrank into 
herself. His burst of passion touched no 
affectionate chord in her, but rather seemed 
to rouse what was baneful and unruly. 
Her hand stole insensibly toward the stiletto 
in her bosom, but she put it back with a strong 
movement, and replied to his caresses with 
all the force at her command. 

“Night is closing in,” he said; “come, let 
us go home.” 

They resumed their way, but no longer in 
the loving .manner of an hour ago. They 
walked side by side, he holding her hand, 
silent, thoughtful. 

“Marcel,” she said, “I wounded your feel- 
ings just now, wounded them in a manner that 
must be most painful to a patriotic man, and 
I have only just come to realize it. I was 
carried away, I regret it. The poem was 
taught me in my youth by an old teacher who 
had received it from my father in one of his 
bursts of passion. I pray you to forget it, and 
forgive me.” 

“I have already forgotten it, sweet Rose,” 
said the young viscount, “and I could treas- 
ure up no ill feeling against you. That word 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS llj 

‘forgive’ will never be necessary between us.” 

He took her head between his hands and 
kissed it passionately. She blushed crimson, 
for she perceived a servant coming down the 
side of the hill on the side of the castle. 

Rose started, and uttered a little cry, and 
Marcel looked up. He frowned as the man 
came toward them, and would have broken 
out in anger, but she restrained him. 

“There is a gentleman at the castle,” said 
the man when he got up to Marcel, “and he 
wishes to see the Princess de Carpegna at 
once.” 

“What.?” cried Rose. 

“At once,” ejaculated Marcel. 

“Those were his words, viscount,” con- 
tinued the man, holding out a card to Rose. 

She took it quickly and burst into a loud 
fit of laughter. 

“Ha, ha, ha! Old Giacomo! My prime 
minister, master of the house, and major- 
domo, who thinks when he wants me all he 
has to do is to say: ‘Here, at once.’ I 
thought so — Ha, ha, ha! I shall be there at 
once,” she said to the man; “tell him so.” 

She changed color, as the man turned his 
back on them, a dark shade passed over her 


Il8 A PRIMA DONNA OP-THE SLUMS 

face, and she was almost speechless for a mo- 
ment, but she quickly recovered, and said 
to Marcel: 

“Will you excuse me while I go and receive 
my ancient tyrant?” 

“Why, certainly.” 

“I will prepare him to meet you, and then 
you may come in.” 

“Very good.” 

“He knows nothing of my life. Indeed, he 
thinks that I am still a small girl, and ought 
to be whipped when I am naughty.” 

She tore up the card as she spoke, and 
when he asked to see it, she had only some 
small bits of it in her hands. The rest had 
fallen among the leaves. 

“The card would tell you nothing,” she said. 
“‘Giacomo, King of the Roses,’ was all there 
was on it. He is in his second childhood. In 
half an hour!” she added. 

“Very good. In half an hour.” 

She flew up the hill like a fawn and was 
soon lost to view over the summit. Marcel 
watched her while he could, and thought what 
a wayward and exquisite creature she was. 
How full of surprises, how loving, how de- 
voted, how true. 


A PRIMA DONNA OF TNE SLtTMS 11^ 

The very pain she caused him enhanced 
his love for her; the abrupt and ever-changing 
moods that swayed her, made him more 
anxious to bind her to him. He could not 
bear her out of his sight, for fear he should 
never again see her; some whim might come 
into her head, and she would fly. He feared 
it at that moment, as never before, while he 
gazed at her flying shadow on the ground, 
and saw her rise over the brow of the hill. 
A great void came into his heart, and he sat 
on the trunk of a fallen tree to pass away the 
time until he could go to her. As his mind 
glanced back over the past and brought him 
to that instant he thought his father unrea- 
sonable to refuse to consent to his marriage. 
He would do without it. He would go into 
the courts, and persuade Rose that it was 
necessary they should be man and wife at 
once. 

The idea pleased him. He was like a boy 
with a new toy, every change that was agree- 
able to him seemed to be in his favor. This 
very old major-domo, or tutor of her child- 
hood, would be an excellent ally. He would 
take him into his confidence, and together 
they would impress on Rose the need of haste. 


120 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


Giacomo must be a good old fellow. He 
already liked him. He was sure the Prince of 
Roses was a simple-minded, stout old man 
with a loud voice, a red face, and a heart of 
gold. He was soon whistling an air from the 
“Marriage of Figaro,” and knocking the 
briers about with a stick he had picked up. 

Rose stopped when she was out of sight of 
her lover, and dropped the skirts she held in 
her hand. She turned in the direction of 
Marcel and her face became as dark as night. 
Throwing back her hair, and waving her 
hand in the air, she declaimed again the 
poem that had aroused so much anguish in 
him. Her eyes flashed as she spoke, the 
whole genius of the woman opened up to the 
task, and made it an expression of hate, such 
as is rarely witnessed on the mimic stage. She 
shook her clenched fist in the direction of 
Marcel when she had finished and repeated 
the line written on the card she had torn up 
a few moments before: “Time presses, time 
presses, foul bird of a foul nest, and time 
will keep pressing until I see you dead and 
black at my feet. I loathe myself for ever 
having allowed you to look upon me; my flesh 
creeps at every thought of the touch of your 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


I2I 


hand! I’d tear those eyes out now, only that 
I know the day will come when you will try 
to loathe me for the ruin I have wrought you. 
Time presses. Yes, time, indeed, presses. 
I am hungry for the last act, my heart is 
already sick of the waiting. I have been your 
minister, and have led you into a hell that no 
man yet has been able to describe. A hell of 
body and soul, of heart and mind, a hell of 
toil and torment, a hell without redemption. 
You are steeped in a love that will never 
leave you, that will not die out, but like the 
furnace in the mountain keep rumbling on for 
ages. I have been the serpent that lured to 
the pit, the will-o’-the-wisp that betrayed you 
in the dark. I have made my eyes to glisten 
and my nerves to dance that you might love 
me with the force of passion, and you took 
the false for the fair and died. Your agony 
is yet to come, mine is here now.” 

She turned and ran toward the house, but 
coming to a giant oak, fell on her knees beside 
it. She folded her hands as if in prayer and 
looking to the sky murmured: 

“Forgive me. Jack! Oh! my beloved! No 
part of me went out to him. I am yours. 
Jack, yours and yours alone. My heart is 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 

yours, my gentle, faithful love, my Jack, my 
soul. Forgive me, oh! forgive, and believe 
that not a thought v^^as ever his. This clay 
is but a coarse and vicious case, dear Jack, 
but love is like the soul, immortal.” 

She rose and looked once more in the di- 
rection of Marcel. “Ha! Ha!” she laughed 
hysterically, “you thought you killed Car- 
pegna, you will wake to find there is another 
duel to be fought — one to the death, your 
death. Your dream is over.” 

She turned and went slowly to the house. 
At the door two servants met her. “The 
gentleman is in the parlor, madame,” said 
one. She passed in between them. 


XVII 


A SURPRISE 

In the parlor was Marino, caressing his 
mustache, and looking out of the window. 
Rose entered and he was so engrossed by the 
contemplation of the lawn and the flower- 
beds that he did not hear her. 

“You wish to see me, sir,” she said, stand- 
ing in the middle of the room. 

Marino turned, and bowed low. “Your par- 
don, Madame La Princess, your pardon, a 
thousand times. I had forgotten myself in 
the lovely picture to be seen from this win- 
dow.” 

“What is your message, sir.?” 

“As I took the liberty of putting on my 
card to your highness, time presses, and 
there is other work to be done. The first act 
of the comedy is over, the scene changes, and 
we are soon to raise the curtain on the second. 
Then we shall reveal a grand catastrophe, the 
grandest yet brought before the public, and 


124 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THF SLUMS 


your Highness shall play the leading part.’^ 

“Enough, sir, who sent you?” 

“His excellency the Prince de Carpegna, 
your most noble husband.” 

“And his orders are?” 

“His request, your highness, is that you ac- 
company me to Paris. I have a carriage that 
will take us to the railway station, and time 
presses. It is a trumpery affair, but the best 
the village affords, though not what I should 
like to provide for your highness.” 

“Lead the way, I am ready.” 

“I have prepared three lines for the young 
gentleman. I suppose I may leave them on 
the table.” 

“Anywhere you like.” 

He bowed and went out of the house be- 
fore her. She folded a black lace wrap about 
her shoulders, took a hat from the rack in the 
hall, and followed him. Marino went straight 
on and Rose followed. At the gate was a low 
tumble-down, lumbering coach. Marino opened 
the door with much ceremony and stood be- 
side it. Rose passed him as if she had never 
seen him before, and stepped into the vehicle. 
He went up beside the driver, and they started 
for the railroad station. It was dark, and be- 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


125 


ginning to get cold. Rose almost shivered as 
she sat in the old barouche. Still a sense of 
freedom came over her, and she felt almost 
like a bird liberated from a cage. That joy 
was somewhat subdued by the promise of 
Marino that she was called for other work, 
and she knew the kind that was likely to be 
demanded of her by Carpegna. 

Marino was off the bcx and at the carriage 
door with surprising alacrity, the moment the 
horses were pulled up in front of the little rail- 
road station. He opened the door for Rose 
with the dexterity of a footman, closed it, and 
dismissed the vehicle. He took a seat in the 
station at a respectful distance from his lovely 
charge, and conducted himself in all respects 
like a man entirely impressed with the dignity 
and importance of his mission. A close exam- 
ination of his face, however, would have re- 
vealed a glimmer now and then of the satis- 
faction that reigned in the man. Rose saw 
it, and wondered at its meaning. She knew 
the revengeful, devilish nature of the man well, 
and she wondered what scheme was in con- 
templation that gave him so much delight. 
She remained quiet for some time, studying 
Marino, but as the train was late, they had 


126 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


much longer to wait than they expected. She 
accordingly set about attempting to draw from 
her fellow conspirator some idea of the new 
enterprise. 

“I hardly know by which name to address 
you,” she ventured tentatively. 

“Name, your highness.?” 

“Yes. I knew you in London as Marino, 
and at the duel you were Traventi.” 

“Ah, yes! Either, your highness. Any name 
will do from you. In reality it is Marino de 
Traventi, but Marino or Traventi, as you find 
it easier. Delightful duel, artistically carried 
out! I like art; I am an artist, though a poor 
one — a musician, as your highness has heard 
— and I adore things conducted in an artistic 
way. That is the Italian way ; I am an Italian. 
So is the Prince de Carpegna. He is a great 
artist, and a great Italian. The princess 
eclipses all; she is a wonder in beauty, genius 
and patriotism, she is truly a magnificent 
Italian. The duel! Ah! the duel was divine! 
Think how it was planned. The viscount and 
the princess the prince, and the distich, the 
insult, the quarrel, the challenge, the thing 
done. What a night ! Then the meeting in 
the park. The lovely princess behind the 


A PRIMA DONNA of THE SLUMS 


127 


bushes, the prince hit, and on the way to 
send the young fool to examine the sulphur 
mines of the Inferno, when he sees the en- 
chantress peeping through the trees. Quicker 
than the flash of the pistol the mind of the 
great prince acts. ‘No,’ it says, ‘you shall 
be stung to a living death by the serpent’s 
glance, and then you shall die a lingering 
death by your own hand;’ and he sent a bullet 
in the air. He fainted to oblige the gentle- 
men, and sent me to you with a message. I 
had the honor of finding you among the trees, 
and communicating to you the suggestions of 
my lord and prince, the greatest of all Italians.” 

“I remember,” she replied absently, but it 
suddenly struck her that Marino had taken a 
turn at hiding in the bushes and that he had 
been around the castle previous to that day. 
She looked on him curiously as she said: 

“You were in the woods to-day when I was 
out walking there with the Viscount Besnard.” 

“I was, and heard the great oration. I 
would like to have applauded, but dared not. 
It was sublime. Genius of the grandest or- 
der. The words of Scipione, delivered by the 
daughter, to the son of the assassin. It was 
glorious ! You were inspired. I have seen them 


128 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


all, but no one of them ever rose to that. The 
feeling, the melody, the fire, the enthusiasm, 
the passion, the scorn, the hate, the denun- 
ciation, all swelling out in grand diapason. 
The woods rang with it. And then the maj- 
esty of the delivery, the glory of the gesture, 
the heavenly inspiration of the artist!” 

“You also know then of the other occur- 
rence in the woods to-day.?” 

“The marriage business.? I do, and your 
highness carried it off with great dignity.” 

“And now you are carrying me off,” she 
added laughingly. 

“According to orders.” 

“I am glad.” 

The train came dashing up to the plat- 
form, they entered a compartment, and were 
carried to Paris. 


XVIII 


CHASING A SHADOW 

Something more than half an hour elapsed 
before Marcel reached the house — not that he 
was not in a hurry to rejoin Rose, but he spent 
more time in the enjoyment of his happiness 
than he was aware of. A strange uneasiness 
came over him, as he approached the house. 
He had never before remarked how cold, how 
lonely it seemed. 'He would take Rose to 
Paris, or London, or Italy, whichever she pre- 
ferred, as he was sure she did not like that 
residence. It seemed to him to frown more 
dismally the nearer he came, and when he 
reached the steps leading in from the rear he 
wondered what had become of all the serv- 
ants. There was not one to be seen. There 
was a small colony of them, and usually when 
he returned there were two or three to meet 
him, and ascertain his desires — what did it 
mean } 

And where was Rose.? 

Q 129 


130 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


He entered the house, and it seemed to him 
that he had just stepped into a place out of 
which the life had fled. A servant came slowly 
toward him, and another appeared in the dis- 
tance behind him. It looked to Marcel as if 
they were afraid of him. He passed them in 
the hall, and went into the great front recep- 
tion room. It was bare and empty as a vault 
in a cemetery. He looked out of the window 
but could only see the ghostly shadows of the 
trees, bending and moaning in the night’ 
breeze. He walked into the back room, which 
Rose sometimes used as sitting-room, but no 
sign of her was there. He dared not ask for 
Rose, he did not wish to ^how his anxiety. A 
servant met him in the hall as he left the 
library, and said: “Madame La Princess went 
out, monsieur.” 

“Out!” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Alone.?”' 

“No, sir, with the gentleman who came to 
see her. She received him in the great cham- 
ber, and, after a short talk, they went away 
together.” 

“She did not say where she w’as going.?” 

“No, sir.” 


A PRLMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS I3I 

“What did she wear?” 

“Only a lace scarf and a hat she took off 
the rack here in the halL” 

“Oh, then, she is not gone far.” 

“The gentleman had a carriage waiting at 
the park gate, and they went away in that,” 
the gate-keeper said. 

“Ah, then, some of her poor have been taken 
suddenly ill and she has gone to see them.” 

“Very likely, sir.” 

“Order me a trap, and I will go over to the 
priest’s; I might be of service.” 

“Certainly, sir,” replied the servant, rush- 
ing off to the stables, but feeling quite certain 
the viscount would not overtake the princess. 

Marcel himself was not buoyed up with 
very strong hope that he would meet her, but 
he was determined to make every effort to 
do so. She could not have gone far, and the 
place was too small for any one to hide long 
in. It never occurred to him that she had 
gone to Paris, though a strange feeling came 
over him, that he had lost her forever. The 
disappearance was so sudden, so unexpected, 
so motiveless, that it stunned him, and left 
him without a notion of what to do. The 
night, the lonely house, and the reticence of 


132 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


the servants, added to the mystery, and made 
him sick at heart. A groom drove up to the 
door with a trap and he got into it mechanic- 
ally. He drove to the priest’s, the doctor’s, 
the mayor’s, the druggist’s, but no one had 
seen or heard of the princess. He was on 
the point of giving up the search when the 
postmaster entered the pharmacy and said 
he had seen madame at the station with a 
tall, dark gentleman, and that they had gone 
to Paris. Marcel thanked him and went home. 
The light had been brought into the gr.eat 
room, and one of the servants had found 
the slip of paper on the table. Marcel read it, 
and re-read it, and dropped into a chair. 
“She is gone!” he cried; “gone! She thought 
she loved me, but she discovered she did not, 
and she has fled with another. Oh! come- 
dienne! I have found you out at last. You 
have trifled with me, and mocked me. Out 
of my heart forevermore!” 

He tore the paper into fragments. The 
next moment he threw himself on a sofa and 
burst into a burning flood of tears. 

“No, no! It cannot be. Some one has 
poisoned her mind. She loves me, loves only 
me, and I will fight for her to the death. She 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


133 


is mine, mine only. I cannot live without 
her. Oh! Rose, Rose, come back to me! 
Come, my beloved, and all shall be forgiven. 
I love you. Rose, love you with heart and 
soul, and will be your slave, your dog, for- 
evermore. Oh! Rose! Rose!” 

He walked to the station, and took the mid- 
night train to Paris. The following morning 
he appeared in his father’s house. 


XIX 




TETE-A-TETE 

Jack Burroughs was too much engrossed by 
his own affairs, or he might have saved him- 
self a great deal of time and labor. He kept 
himself to himself, and prosecuted his search 
for Rose single-handed. He never spoke to 
anyone on the subject, and he never heard her 
name mentioned. It would have been all 
different if he had not lived so exclusively. 
She was the talk of the town, and if he had 
frequented the clubs, the cafes , the restau- 
rants, the boulevards, where the young men 
spent their time, he would have heard all 
about her and Marcel. There was first the 
duel, then the elopement, as it was called, 
then Marcel’s absence from his duties in the 
Council of State, and afterwards the marriage. 
These many strong and varying points of 
interest prolonged the sensation, and there 
was hardly a waiter or cab-driver in the city 
that did not know the story. Jack got an 
134 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 1 35 

inkling of it one day, as he sat in a cafe on 
the Boulevard des Italiens, from a paragraph 
in a paper. An allusion was made to the con- 
tinued absence of the viscount, and the charm- 
ing excuse a princess might make for such 
continued neglect of duty. Jack almost 
bounded from his chair. He rose in his slow 
way, and got a cab. He thought he would 
call on the Count Besnard, for he had not seen 
any of the family since his sister went home. 
He only knew Marcel slightly. He had met 
him but once and then onl}^ for a minute. 
The old count was too ill to receive when 
Jack called, but Gabrielle was delighted to 
see him. She met him in the drawing-room, 
and told him all he wanted to know without 
his having to ask a question. Jack could not 
help noticing her beauty and vivacity as she 
spoke, and sympathised with her when she 
became indignant over her brother’s disgrace. 

“I can’t go out on account of it,” she said; 
“not that I go out so very much, because I 
am lame, you know,” and she looked up at 
him inquiringly to see if he thought much of 
her lameness. 

“Lame! are you.?” said Jack. He really 
had not remembered whether she was so or 


not. 


136 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


“Oh, yes, quite lame! Have you not re- 
marked it?” 

“No, indeed.” 

“Oh, now, you say th^t to spare my feel- 
ings. I shall write to Maude, and tell her you 
are taking to Paris ways, and making com- 
pliments.” 

“I assure you I never noticed that you 
were lame, and even then, I don’t think that 
amounts to much. . Lady Baddeng, thought 
the most beautiful woman in England, is 
v©ry lame, and you know the Princess of 
Wales has quite a halt.” 

“Ah, yes, I know about the princess.” 

“Why, after she came to England all the 
women in the country took to halting on one 
foot. It was the fashion.” 

“It’s my fashion, too, but that is not where 
I got it,” and she laughed a soft, sweet, musical 
laugh, that sounded very pleasantly in Jack’s 
ears. He thought she resembled a delicate 
hot-house flower, and fully justified all he had 
heard Maude say of her. 

“So it appears they like lameness in women 
in England. I confess I never noticed a dis- 
position that way when I was there, but if 
you say so it must be so.” 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


137 


“The English are odd,” said Jack, “and pe- 
culiarities invariably attract their attention.” 

“Oh, my, ’wouldn’t it be splendid, if some 
big lord "would come over in a ship, take a 
fancy to my peculiarity, and carry me off.^” 

“I don’t know about that; there may be 
quite a lot of people who would not care to 
part with you, though you are lame.” 

“I never thought of that. Now it’s very 
nice of you to think of that; of course, there 
are papa, and — and — Marcel, and Cousin 
Delisle, and — and — I assure you I never 
thought there were so many persons who 
would be sorry to see me carried off, anyway. 
I have been so much alone since my mother 
died, and I have been so much neglected in 
society on account of my infirmity, for you 
know if one won’t dance the young men won’t 
bother with one. Then my father needed me 
nearly all the time. I have come to be a sort 
of secretary to him. And with it all I have 
come to repose myself as a single flower in a 
pot. It is not so, as you have very graciously 
pointed out, and I am very much obliged to 
you for it. I shall think more of myself here- 
after.” 

“I would.” 


138 


A PRIMA DONISA OF THE SLUMS 


“But don’t you think the lord might come 
over anyhow if only for the fun of the thing?” 

“He might do worse.” 

“Oh, Mr. Burroughs!” 

“Well, when a man is doing a thing at all, 
he might as well do a good thing.” 

“I shall certainly write to Maude about you 
— Paris is spoiling you. Dear me, you broth- 
ers give us poor girls a deal of trouble; you 
only met my brother once, I think.” 

“Yes, the day of the garden party.” 

“He is so good, so good, so good, and yet 
he has brought us into such disgrace. Papa 
is ill from it, and Aunt Delisle had to shut up 
her house and go into the country. All Paris 
has been talking about it, and the papers, I 
am told they were full of it. But did you not 
hear of it?” 

“No, I was busy, and then I see only com- 
mercial Englishmen, and few of them even 
talk French.” 

“He fought a duel, you know, with the 
Prince de Carpegna.” 

“The Prince de Carpegna?” 

“Yes, and the next day went off with the 
princess.” 

“Ro — I mean the Princess de Carpegna?” 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


139 


“Yes. You know her. They call her Rose.” 

“No, no, I don’t know her. I have heard 
the name. The Princess de Carpegna, and 
Rose. That is all.” 

“Well, Rose must be her name. They call 
her the wild Rose, the beautiful Rose, the 
charming Rose, and now the Rose of Lasse- 
ville. That’s where my brother has taken 
her to his country chateau in the Midi. He 
is going to marry her there, and has so writ- 
ten to my father.” 

“My God! that can’t be true!” said Jack, 
stupefied. 

“It is quite true. Papa refused his consent, 
of course, and now Marcel will have to go into 
the courts.” 

“Married! married!” ejaculated Jack, for- 
getting where he was, and thinking only of 
the woman he loved. 

“She must be a horrid creature, mustn’t 
she?” 

“I! — I! — ” and a look of pain came into 
Jack’s face that brought the tears into the 
willing eyes of Gabrielle. She misinterpreted 
the look, and thought it was one of kindness 
and sympathy for her. She never dreamed 
that her words were cutting the heart out of 


140 


A PBIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


the giant sitting in front of her and suffering 
agony. 

“Think of it,” she went on, “runaway with 
the man who killed her husband, and the very 
next day.” 

“Yes, yes,” returned Jack, half aloud, think- 
ing to himself, for he then remembered that 
Rose had disappeared just at that time. 

“And before all Paris,” added Gabrielle. 

“Yes, yes!” groaned Jack. 

“It is not a proper subject for me to talk 
about,” said Gabrielle, “but I can’t help it, 
and I must say something about it, for it is 
killing me.” 

Jack looked at her,, and made no answer. 

“She must be a bold, bad creature,” said 
Gabrielle, “to lure a young man away, and 
take no thought of his position.” 

“There may be extenuating circum- 
stances,” said Jack, who could hardly see 
any, but who could not bear to hear her badly 
spoken of if it crushed the life out of him. 

“Only an angel could say such words,” 
cried out Gabrielle, carried away by the sub- 
ject. 

“We never know, we never know,” said 
Jack. “I am a lawyer, you know, and accus- 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS I^I 

tomed to look for motives and springs of 
action. The act sometimes is shadowed by 
the provocation.” 

“You would have to be a very great lawyer 
to find an excuse for that woman. She has 
ruined us all.” 

“I hope it may not be so bad as that.” 

“It is just as bad as that, and she is as bad 
and wicked as she can be.” 

“We must be patient with the erring,” said 
Jack, and there was a plaintiveness in his 
tone that vibrated through the young girl 
from head to foot. 

“That is true,” she said, and she burst into 
tears. “You are right. There may be some- 
thing we do not know and we have no right 
to judge. But, she has brought disgrace on 
us — oh! such disgrace!” 

“That is the sad and painful part of it; 
but she has not escaped.” 

“She, oh! she,” exclaimed Gabrielle, again 
going back to her anger, “she is nothing. An 
adventuress. I have no doubt they will find 
out. she is not a princess. Probably some 
princess of the slums, who manufactured her 
own title.” 

“She is a woman,” said Jack. 


142 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


“She is, she is,” replied the girl, again 
bursting into tears, more at the sound of the 
man’s voice, than any compassion she felt for 
Rose. 

“And has a heart,” said Jack. 

“Maybe, maybe.” 

“Don’t let your wrongs make you unjust. 
The truth may all come out some day, and 
you will be sorry.” 

“Oh! how can I be sorry for anyone who 
has brought such misery on me?” 

“You would be sorry to do an injustice.” 

“Ye— s.” 

“Then if you learned some day that this 
lady had been unjustly censured you would 
regret having joined in the general condem- 
nation.” 

“I suppose I would, but I can’t see what 
excuse she could ever have for acting as she 
has.” 

“There is an excuse, justifiable to some, at 
the bottom of every act,” continued Jack, as 
if he were arguing a case. He was appealing 
to himself as much as to Gabrielle, and trying 
to find a cause for forgiveness for Rose. He 
saw that Gabrielle was in love with him, saw 
it with trepidation and sorrow, and knew 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


143 


what she must be suffering. The hopeless- 
ness of such a love struck a tender chord in 
the heart of Jack, and he felt a pity and com- 
passion for the young girl, amounting almost 
to affection. Her loneliness, her loveliness, 
her devotion to her brother, swept the sym- 
pathy called forth by the situation, like the 
stroke of practiced fingers on a harp, and he 
would willingly have borne all the pain if he 
could have spared her. It was the dawn of 
a new light, and pouring balm on an open 
wound. He was grateful for it. He felt it,s 
softening, soothing effects, and although she 
abused Rose, as he probably would have him- 
self abused her, he was pleased that she gave 
him the opportunity to say a word in her de- 
fense. 

“There may be,” said Gabrielle, after a 
pause, “although I cannot see what excuse 
can be offered in this case.” 

“There is only one excuse a woman can 
offer,” said Jack, who felt an awful twinge 
inside as he spoke the words. 

“Love.?” 

“Yes.” 

“Love is capable of any sacrifice!” 

“In women.” 


144 ^ PRIM A DONNA OF THE SLUMS 

“In men, too, I hope.” 

“That I don’t know.” 

“Were you never in love?” 

“I am a lawyer, you know, and lawyers are 
schooled to deal only with the facts of life.” 

“But love is a part of life.” 

“To be sure, but we never bring it into 
court, except to influence the fatherly in- 
stincts of a jury.” 

“I think I am glad to hear you were never 
in love.” 

“Because I am not likely to make a fool of 
myself?” 

“No, I don’t think you would do that under 
any circumstances. I think if you felt an 
unhappy love you would hide it from ‘the 
world.” 

“You give me credit for too much courage 
and power. I am afraid I am as soft as the 
next man and just as likely to do the wrong 
thing .under exciting circumstances as this 
princess.” 

“You have made me half forgive her. She 
must have been in love with Marcel. It is no 
wonder. He is very handsome, and very 
brave. But then it seems an awful thing for 
a woman to accept the man who killed her 
husband.” 



V/V' • 



* « * ^ 


. L . 


. -■» 
V ^ , 


« •' ' •>. 


f • •■*'*.. 




v.i.Vv'r-' ■ ' 

< ' ‘..'*Tv 


• rJ,<y . ^ 

^1# '« » 4 • •' 

> “ 


,* ' •* « . ''i«' 

■ -■ ' • : ', . ■-,::? ■V^v,. ':V ‘V. 

*'• **!.»■-» Nv *, *** I • 

' •>•• ^ ', * ’»•• *,*i. » 

: • • '■■’< ', i • ■ ■'. - ’ . .'■ 

* '.* » »t 


m'mmm ■ \ 


* ■ ,1 • 


• .* ••♦ 




■ ; 








• 1 « 






V :' •' • 'f 


» 

• I 

■'i 


K? 
. V'' *> 

> 'i 


••'V. 








r 

* ' * 


f* . . .A . . MV'* *' 


• 

1‘ 


' ^ ■ V. A • 


»V 


- i 


V, t 


' ■ 

/ 


- < 




V 
r. 






;.*.v7.v . 


- V - 

■ v^ '- »’*•* V ' • ■ 




"vny. ;^ 

7^:r ; 

M r /.* ''' • *‘ ■ 

; * • TOi • * 







, f**' • . - •* n' -. 


(■ 


, . . '* ■•, r- ':V‘ 

r- _,. -. -r.. -.. 


* y , 1 .^4' 

r# : V 


r • 




r. ’ . V • i • 

' ' .■ ' "O r*' *i_s •*.' ' ' ^ !■ 




« • 
f 




:••• A 


J rv.v “k ^ *S * <V •. •■'.•'• "i. 





. ^ < 


■ V » ‘ .' 


f,' 


.V' •' ■ .',-*•<• 


r'- » 


A* » 



▼/ 


• 1. 


■., ■ r'- V''' . : 


. y V ^^•‘Sa'Vv' T /u 



4.^ 


•y. 


V. 


• • • 
:• s '> 




.1 » 


!s i . •' s.-» • ■.- -«*»' “ • • -# 

.: ■ ■7:- '■ 


•'• * -w 




' , - • ... V, -M 

V':^ 

> ‘ 4 . ' ■ * . ► '■:•<*'- 

^ mjJu ^ 1 * I” - ■ • ' V r.. 




--•■ .■•'•?* y*!. * A!r^'r_ -y-'* -f 











YOU COULD DO ME A GREAT FAVOR,’’ SHE SAID 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


145 


“Who can fathom the human heart?” 

“No one. No one. I forgive the princess 
for your sake; there,” and she held out to him 
her little hand. 

“And I almost forgive her for yours,” said 
Jack as he held it. 

“You could do me a great favor,” she said, 
“in return, if you have the time and inclina- 
tion.” 

“I have the inclination,” returned Jack, “and 
I will take the time.” 

“Go and see my brother. Tell him my 
father is dying, and repeat to him all I have 
said to you concerning his life and prospects 
here. It is the mission of a brother, and I 
ask you to take it as a sister. I know, as I 
know you, that if any voice can bring him to 
a sense of his duty to those he loves, and who 
love him, it will be yours. He is very proud, 
and the knowledge of the ruin he has wrought 
and the disgrace attaching to his name will 
bring him to a consideration of his position.” 

“I have little hope of succeeding, but I will 
undertake the task.” 

“You may do so as my counsel.” 

“Yes, as your counsel.” 

“I wish I could engage you as my perpetual 
counsel.” 10 


146 A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


“Why not? MyofBce is in the Temple, and 
open to all comers. I have no professional 
cards with me, or I might give you one for 
the address.” 

She laughed heartily. 

“I will get the address from Maude, and 
maybe call on. you some day in the Temple, 
Prove worthy in my first case, and you may 
rely on a continuance of my favor.” 

“I will do my best.” 

“You will start for Lassevill^ — when?” 

“To-day.” 

“And I shall hear from you?” 

“At once.” 

“Success!” 

“Good-bye.” 

Jack kissed her hand, and left the room. 

Gabrielle went singing up the stairs, and 
old Joachim had to call her attention to the 
fact that her father was ill. 


XX 

THE GHOST AND THE LADY 

Marino conducted Rose to a magnificent 
house in the suburbs of Paris, and left her at 
the door. The servants were waiting in the 
hall, and ready to receive her, as if she had 
only been out a few hours. They were all 
new people to her, but were so well trained, 
and admirably suited to their positions, that 
there was not a ripple in the surface of the 
reception. The maid took the hat and lace 
shawl, and led the way to the boudoir. Half 
an hour later dinner was served, and that was 
scarcely over, when the Prince de Carpegna 
called. 

“I did not expect the pleasure of a visit 
from you, sir,” said Rose, coldly. 

“Am I not welcome.^” 

“You are in your own house, I presume.” 

“No, madame, I am in yours.” 

“I will not ask you to explain the riddle, 
but accept what you say as the fact.” 

147 


148 A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 

“The proof is at hand, and I will take the 
liberty of recalling to you, that I only deal in 
facts — ugly facts for some people. I hope 
they are not so to you, or that you do not so 
regard them. I have endeavored to make 
your path to success as pleasant as I could, 
and regret very much that I have failed to 
satisfy you.’’ 

“Well, sir.” 

“May I not sit down.?” 

“Certainly. And won’t you be seated.?” 

“Now may I ask what it is you complain of .?” 

“Everything.” 

“That is comprehensive, at all events. Am 
I included in the catalogue.?” 

“You are.” 

“Do you object to my being here.?” 

“I do. 

“Because — .?” 

“When people die, they are not expected 
to call after din^ner.” 

“Then take it that this is my ghost.” 

“I would not gain much by that, for the 
shadow appears to be as active as the sub- 
stance.” 

“Take me for a spirit, madame, and when 
my business is completed, I shall disappear, 
and not trouble you again.” 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 14^ 

“Be it so.” 

“That disposes of my presence here at this 
moment. I am received as a ghost.” 

“Yes, sir,” said Rose solemnly, not know- 
ing where he was trying to lead her, and at- 
tentively watching his snapping blue eyes. 

“Now, madame, to show you that I am a 
gentlemanly ghost, and one who is at all 
times desirous of being agreeable to a lady, 

I will vanish through the keyhole this instant, 
if you wish it, and give way to any substan- 
tial visitor you may expect.” 

“You know very well I expect no one. I 
could expect no one. You sent for me sud- 
denly, brought me here, like one blindfolded, 
and I am entirely at your mercy.” 

“It is the other way, but let that pass. I will* 
go further, I will defer my visit to another 
night, although time presses, and give you 
opportunity to renew any agreeable acquaint- 
ance that may be languishing for your pres- 
ence.” 

“You are a very good ghost, but now that 
you are here I prefer to hear all you have to 
say.” 

“That’s better — well, then, to be brief, we 
have arrived at a point in our affairs, when a 


ICO A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 

little explanation is necessary. Let me ask 
you at the outset whether you consider that 
I have carried out my share of the contract so 
far.^” 

“Yes.” 

“Thank you. I found you in London, a 
prima donna of the slums; I brought you into 
the Hotel Arditi; there I pointed out the as- 
sassin of your father, the seducer of your 
mother; we entered into a compact to destroy 
them, because I had almost as strong motives 
as you. Scipione was my friend and his slayer 
the enemy of my country. You remember 
your words, T am yours, body and soul. ’ I 
made you the Princess de Carpegna, gave you 
a position, wealth, all that a woman could 
desire, and I trespassed no farther. I am an 
old man, I have lived past the age of love, 
and what I had I gave to my country. You 
were therefore saved an uninviting clause in 
the bargain. I put in your way a young man. 
I risked my life to do that, according to my 
notion, and that of the most eminent council 
of our brethren, and I spared his life that you 
might strike a deadlier blow. You have done 
so, and done it well. No woman in existence 
could have done it so well. We have watched 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS I51 

every move as you have doubtless suspected, 
and we have nothing but wonder and admi- 
ration for your supreme ability.” 

She listened with folded hands and never 
moved. 

He stopped, apparently to take breath, but 
really to give her an opportunity to speak, 
but she was silent. 

“You are a true daughter of Italy, and of 
Scipione Lavetti. He was a true son of our 
native land, and a great man — a grand man. 
He was not only great and grand in genius, 
but in his sufferings.” 

The tears sprung into Rose’s eyes, and her 
lips closed in anger. Two feelings swayed 
her, love and revenge. The memory of her 
father was a passion with her; to punish his 
assassin the blood of her veins. The prince 
dwelt on her father to prepare her for what 
he had next to announce. He led her on skill- 
fully, exciting her feelings, and rousing her 
enthusiasm for Italy, which cooled quickly 
when Jack Burroughs came into mind. The 
prince knew that, and knew also that it was 
the rock ahead of his scheme. 

“If he were alive now he would be at our 
head,” continued the prince, “he would lead 


152 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


US to victory. The traitors who have de- 
stroyed our plans and checked our course 
would be laid low, the old flag would be 
raised, and we should march in triumph to 
our homes. He is here in you. He has sent 
us from that land across the gulf, his other 
self, in genius, in devotion, in grandeur, in 
subtlety, in capacity for suffering, and in hope 
in the nation’s cause. We are gathered now 
at the foot of the altar his hand has lighted, 
and the incense of his blood perfumed, pray- 
ing for deliverance. We are worshiping 
there, and led on to the sacrifice by the white- 
souled priestess whom Scipione has selected 
to minister the mystic rites. His own flesh, 
his own blood he has chosen, and in the track 
of that flesh and blood we will tread, and lay 
down our own until peace has been restored 
to his ashes, and the hopes he cherished 
crowned.” 

“Father! Father!” cried the poor girl, in 
accents of agony, and the tears rolled down 
her cheeks. 

“We have dealt the first blow, and dealt it 
in the immediate vicinity of his taking off; 
the opportunity for a second presents itself in 
a higher and more important place.” 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


153 


“What do you mean? — The father?” asked 
Rose, looking suddenly up, and all her appre- 
hensions aroused. 

“No.” 

“What then?” 

“You remember the ball at the Tuileries?” 

“I do.” 

“You remember the grand march?” 

“Of the Emperor and his suite, yes.” 

“Of Bonaparte and his servants, yes.” 

“Well.” 

“A lady dropped her fan.” 

“I did.” 

“Bonaparte picked it up, and handed it to 
you, smiling as he did so.” 

“He handed it to me.” 

“And was observed to smile most graciously 
as he did so.” 

“Well?” 

“When he went to his private apartments, 
he inquired who you were.” 

“Was he told?” 

“Yes.” 

“By whom?” 

“The Baron La Chesnaye. He asked after 
you again two days later, and was told of your 
flight with my antagonist. He was angry.” 

“He took a very great liberty.” 


154 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


“Unquestionably, but he was in the habit 
of that. As time wore on and you did not re- 
appear in Paris he grew worse. He was not 
only in love, but furiously jealous. Those 
nearest to him thought the young viscount 
would lose his place in the State Council, not- 
withstanding the former important services of 
the father to the empire. Bonaparte could not 
brook the idea that you had fallen in love 
with this young attache, and yet it seemed like 
it, you remained away so long. La Chesnaye 
was losing favor as he could not discover you, 
and bring you to the fat traitor. A man met 
him one day in a club where he was bemoan- 
ing his fate, and informed him that he thought 
you would be soon in town. He flew to his 
master, and received promises of quick ad- 
vancement if his words were true. He went 
back to the man. It is no matter who he was, 
he was a friend of ours. The man guaranteed 
that you would be here to-morrow, on condi- 
tion that this house and ground were pur- 
chased in your name, and the deed left at a 
notary's for you. That was done; you will re- 
ceive them to-morrow at noon.” 

“And for all this.?” 

“You are to entertain Bonaparte.” 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


155 


“I refuse.” 

“Hear me out.” 

“No more of that. Anything else you like, 
but I will not be submitted to that again.” 

“Listen to me a moment.” 

“I must.” 

“For one evening.” 

“No, not one instant. I am ready to go 
on, or I am ready to die, I will not become a 
toy again.” 

“You do not understand me.” 

“Only too well. I did not know what I 
was doing when I went to Lasseville, but I 
have died a thousand deaths there in addition 
to the defilement. No, no, no.” She rose and 
paced the room. 

“This man is the enemy of our race.” 

“Then kill him.” 

“We have arranged to do so.” 

“And I am to be the decoy.?” 

“He was a carbonaro, and betrayed us. He 
is as much against us now as he pretended 
to be with us. He swore allegiance to us; he 
has broken his oath.” 

“Shoot him down!” 

“That is what we propose to do, and we 
want you to help us.” 


156 A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 

“Not that way. Not that way.” 

“Let La Chesnaye bring him here. There 
will be a supper, and company. If he retire 
to talk privately to you, we will send the vis- 
count to see him, and he will do the killing.” 

Rose started, and looked at the prince in 
amazement. 

“It is a diabolical plot,” she said, “and may 
succeed.” 

“If it should, you shall be free the next day. 

I have had papers drawn up, granting you a 
full divorce; with them one million francs 
will be placed in your hand, the day after this 
affair, and you will never again hear of me or 
my brethren, unless you wish to.” 

“Prince, you are a bold man.” 

“I gave my name to the most intrepid wo- 
man alive.” 

“The attendants and soldiers would shoot 
us down, there would be no to-morrow for 
us.” 

“They would deal with him; you would be 
on the side of Bonaparte; you might draw a 
dagger, and rush on his assailant.” 

“Dangerous work.” 

“But worth the doing.” 

“They would find us all out before the 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


157 


affair was finished, and then the guillotine 
would begin its task.” 

“They could not hold us responsible for a 
madman’s act.” 

“They may trace the plot to us. The first 
thing they would stumble against would be 
the ghost of a live man.” 

He saw she was arguing the thing out in 
her own mind, and that she was losing inter- 
est in it, so he determined to arouse her jeal- 
ousy. 

“We have provided against all that, and 
only ask of you the sacrifice of one evening’s 
entertainment. After that you will be free. 
You may go where you like, see whom you 
like, be, in all respects, a free woman. It will 
be made plain that Bonaparte wa^ just visit- 
ing at your house. They will take care of 
that for their own sakes, and show there was 
no impropriety in it. A number of his friends 
will be in the house at the time. This young 
man, delirious with jealousy, will rush in, not 
knowing who is there, and commit some wild 
act. It can hardly be less than murder, and 
then the authorities will deal with him. His 
father will not escape, and our accounts will 
be settled.” 


158 A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 

“It seems a little too cut and dry to succeed.” 

“By the way, there is a sister; you remem- 
ber she was in the restaurant the night we 
met.” 

“Yes.” 

“A very pretty girl; she has fallen desper- 
ately in love with a gentleman in the Temple. ” 

“What!” Turning suddenly like a tigress, 
and confronting the prince. 

“Here is a slip of paper old Giorto brought 
me, the day after the duel. He found it on 
her desk, when she was called to see her father 
who was ill. Giorto is a servant in their 
house, and one of our people.” 

Rose read the will poor Gabrielle had writ- 
ten the morning she thought her brother had 
gone to his death. At the sight of Jack’s 
name written by another woman’s hand her 
blood seemed to thicken and boil. It rushed 
to her head, and then to her heart, and ap- 
peared to set her all on fire. She gazed at 
the prince, and said: 

“This is no trick.^” 

“The princess will excuse me.” 

“I know, I know; you would not descend 
to that.” 

“That is the young lady’s writing, her pa- 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


159 


per, the arms of the family are stamped on it, 
and it was brought to me as I told you. The 
gentleman it names has been here in Paris for 
some time, as you are aware, and was at her 
house yesterday. He had a long interview 
with that young lady, and accepted the com- 
mission at her hands to try to bring back 
her brother. Giorto’s account was that he 
had fallen in love with her.” 

Rose grasped a chair to keep her from faint- 
ing. 

‘This young gentleman has gone to Las- 
seville to see the brother, and persuade him 
to a sense of his duty. He appears to be lost 
to all else.” 

“Send the Baron La Chesnaye here to- 
morrow.” 

“I will do so.” 

Rose burst into tears, and threw herself 
face downward on a sofa. 

The prince left the room without a word. 


XXI 

BECAUSE HE WAS HIS SON 

It was a lovely autumn evening and Paris 
was in one of its gayest humors. 

In the family mansion on the Avenue de 
Breteuil, Gabrielle was seated beside her 
father. The night was already well advanced. 

The Count Besnard appeared old and 
broken. A year had sufficed to bend his figure, 
only lately so straight and proud. His white 
hairs had grown whiter; his face had become 
furrowed with livid lines, and at the corners 
of the mouth hung deep ridges, marks of de- 
crepitude. The cause of his suffering was at 
its height; syncope returned frequently, and 
the doctor did not conceal his uneasiness. 
In giving instructions to Gabrielle and the 
nurses he said: 

“Above all things, save him from surprises,, 
and everything likely to touch the emotions. 
I am afraid of a catastrophe.” 

Gabrielle became a guard over her father; 

160 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS l6l 

she watched that no word or sign should 
reach him of the world outside, and she con- 
fined his thoughts, as much as possible, to re- 
ligious subjects and the future life. Count 
Besnard was a devout man. He had inheritsd 
his mother’s deep emotional nature, and dur- 
ing the later years of his life was a constant 
attendant at church. The old count was lying 
in a long low chair, his eyes closed, his hands 
crossed. He seemed asleep, but, to look at 
the bloodless pallor, and the silent immobility 
of the form, you would have pronounced it 
the great sleep of death. 

Gabrielle was also much changed, and in a 
curiously different way. She was pale and 
thin; probably paler and thinner than for- 
merly, from constant watching and sitting up, 
but the eye was bright, and there was hope. 
It looked as if she had secret information 
that the hand laid so heavily on her well- 
nigh prostrate father would be raised, and 
he would be restored to life. Her dress, too, 
manifested something of the same feeling. It 
had a bright and coquettish air that almost 
seemed out of place, and the spray of roses in 
her corsage indicated a condition of mind that 
could not have been suggested by the figure 
in the chair. ii 


1 62 A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 

Two light taps on the door caused the young 
girl to start. She rose and opened it. The 
old servant, Philomene, stood outside, her 
face as pale as ashes. 

Gabrielle gazed at her in amazement. 

“Miss Gabrielle!” 

“What’s the matter.!^” 

“ A — a — visitor. ” 

“At this hour.?” 

Gabrielle trembled from head to foot. 

A sudden emotion deprived her of speech. 
She thought that Jack could scarcely have 
had time to execute his commission and re- 
turn, and he surely would not call on her at 
that hour of the night although he knew her 
anxiety to know the result. 

“Who is it.?” she inquired, hardly wanting 
to hear the answer 

“A visitor from a — a — a gentleman,” said 
Philomene, “you must come down.” 

Gabrielle had to grasp the door frame for 
support. 

The Count Besnard opened his eyes. 

“Go, my child,” he said, feebly, “and return 
and let me know the nature of this mystery.” 

He had heard the old woman, although 
she only whispered to her young lady. 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 163 

“Yes, father,” replied Gabrielle, going out, 
and closing the door softly behind her. 

The invalid resumed his interrupted dream- 
ing, but at the same time he was listening, 
waiting. It may have been that his mind was 
back in the turbulent past, and the gentle 
opening of the door was a relief to the sur- 
charged conscience. He may have been think- 
ing of Leonora, the beautiful wife of Scipione 
Lavetti, or Lavetti himself, or his own wife, 
who died so young of a broken heart. He 
may have been wondering whether there was 
pardon for such crimes as the hot blood of 
youth and passion had brought to his door, 
and whether the sins were to be visited on 
him or on his children. He had tried to atone 
for them. He had lived an austere and pleas- 
ureless life that he might appease the anger 
due his evil deeds, and had exhausted every 
human means to attract the punishment to 
him, and save those he loved from the conse- 
quences of his recklessness.. He prayed and 
gave alms, and had masses said, and scourged 
himself, that the cup might b6 snatched from 
their lips, and given to him to drain, but the 
rod was evidently to be applied to all, and the 
sins of the father were to carry their curse 


.164 A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 

down, down to other generations. There 
was misery in the thought — misery for him 
who had taken such pains to build and pre- 
pare a future for his name. The flower of his 
days was withered in the bloom, and no man 
wanted to gather it from the stem. His jeal- 
ous eye had noted the strange affection come 
into the virgin heart of his child, and his own 
bled in anguish at the fact that it was not 
even suspected by its object. His son’s affair 
was even worse than he had done, for the boy 
had killed the husband, and now wanted to 
marry the woman. He, too, had slain the 
man, but it was years after the woman had left 
him, and there was the excuse of politics in 
it. 

Presently the old man raised his head. He 
heard an unusual coming and going in the 
house, the noise of voices, that of his daugh- 
ter in particular. Some one was coming up 
the stairs, there were steps in the corridor, 
the door was pushed in timidly, and Marcel 
stood before him. 

The count remained as he was. “You, sir!” 
he said, with indifference; “so you have come 
back 

“Father, forgive me! I have suffered so 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 165 

much,” said the young man humbly, and with- 
out daring to approach the chair. There was 
no reply. 

“Pardon me, sir, and, if you can, forgive me. 
I know I have outrageously offended you. I 
wished to force you to consent to a marriage 
unworthy of me, to give your name to a de- 
graded creature, to open your house to her, 
your heart, your family; but I was mad! mad! 
mad ! and knew not what I was doing — I have 
suffered, father, as no man has ever suffered 
before, and been punished as I deserved.” 

“Father, oh, father,” murmured Gabrielle, 
like a supplicating echo. 

The count raised his head feebly. “When 
did you leave Lasseville, may I ask,” inquired 
he, looking steadily at his son. 

“Yes, I know I ought to have sought you 
sooner, implored your clemency at once, but 
I have not dared — I — no — that is not so. I 
did not wish to — my frenzy still held me in 
chains; I was bound entirely; my companion 
fled; I tried to regain her; she escaped, I fol- 
lowed. I have hunted France, Italy, Austria, 
Germany; I searched all the great cities, and 
found nothing — no one. I employed a score of 
men to aid me in the pursuit, and I have dis- 


l66 A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 

covered no trace of her. Now my passion is 
dead, my madness cured; I have come here 
penitently for your pardon. Give it to me, 
father! Ah! sir, do not deny me the only 
comfort on earth.” 

Gabrielle threw herself at her father’s feet 
as she used to when a child, and supplicated 
him to listen to Marcel. 

“He is your son, my brother,” she cried. 

“I have dared to present myself here,” con- 
tinued Marcel, “because I wish to bid you good- 
bye. I cannot live in Paris under your anger, 
and the jeers of my old comrades, though in 
time I would care little for that, while I could 
never recover from your unforgiveness. My 
life is broken. I must make myself a new one. 
I want to go somewhere, I don’t care where. 
I have asked to be sent to a distant consulate, 
and there, through duty well accomplished, I 
might be able to find some little satisfaction 
with myself. Might I ask you, sir, to use 
your influence for me in that matter.?” 

The count looked down at Gabrielle and 
stroked her head with his hand. 

“Yes,” he said in reply to Marcel, “I will 
speak to the minister.” 

Marcel bowed and left the room, Gabrielle 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


167 


rose and followed him. The count was left 
alone, extended in his long chair. He listened 
to his children going away and shutting the 
door softly behind them. He heard their slow 
steps in the hall down the stairs and knew 
that Gabrielle was hanging on her brother, 
clinging to him to comfort him. They did 
not stop on the library floor, but continued 
down, and he heard the echo of their footfalls 
in the vestibule, and could see the old servants 
weeping as they approached the street door, 
toward a separation perhaps forever. Sud- 
denly the old man sprang to his feet ; he rushed 
to the chamber door, he flung it open with 
violence and called out: 

“Marcel !” 

The brother and sister in the hall stopped 
and looked up toward the count’s room. He 
was at the head of the stairs — “Marcel! Mar- 
cel I” he cried. The son sprang up the stairs, 
the father opened his arms to him, the young 
man fell upon his breast, and both sobbed 
aloud. A long silence ensued, and Gabrielle 
entered the room. 


XXII 

PHANTOM OF THE NIGHT 

“Because that this, my son, was dead, and 
has come to life, that he was lost, and that 
he has been found.” 

Father, son and daughter spent hours in si- 
lent sympathy and happiness, and then the 
children, seeing signs of fatigue come over the 
old count, withdrew, after many tender pas- 
sages of endearment. 

Gabrielle conducted Marcel to his door; he 
kissed her on the forehead and bade her good 
night. At length he was alone. He was at 
home and in his own room, in which his boy- 
hood had been spent and his manhood. Every 
old familiar object welcomed him, and the 
logs blazed merrily on the hearth. What a 
pleasure it was to lounge in his old reading- 
chair and gaze around. There was the lamp 
with its shade at his elbow, as if he had never 
left it. The books on the table that he had 
168 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 1 69 

last opened, the papers even on his desk, as 
he had thrown them, untouched. 

“Dear Gabrielle, thoughtful, gentle sister, 
angel of purity and sweetness, what holy balm 
thy ministering hand has shed on this per- 
turbed and passion-tossed wanderer from the 
paths of rectitude and honor.” 

Marcel leaned his weary body back in the 
big chair, and sought the repose he so much 
needed. He remained there some time, look- 
ing into the fire, until he seemed to see the fig- 
ure he had chased all over Europe, dancing be- 
fore him in the flames, mocking him, and entic- 
ing him on to other places. It came and went, 
stood out from the logs and flew up the chim- 
ney, always joyous, dazzling, dashing, mad- 
dening in its grace and beauty. Marcel tried 
to drive it away as the fire drove it, but it 
came again, and again, and seemed to come 
only for him, and the oftener, the more he 
endeavored to quench it. Presently he rose, 
put a screen before the fire, and walked 
around to examine the objects on the walls, 
and divert his mind by their histories. He 
stood before the panoply, and admired once 
more the curious weapons of which it was 
made up, and went back in mind to the times 


170 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


and places in which he had received them. 
He looked them all over, and coming to the 
pistols that had been used in the duel at Van- 
cressor, he picked them up and threw them 
into the street. 

He lingered fondly over the water-color 
paintings by his sister that adorned the walls, 
and smiled as he remembered the places they 
represented — scenes that she and he had visited 
together, or in company with others. There 
was the gulf, the shore scattered with peasant 
women picturesque and gay. Here was a land- 
scape in Normandy, beside it the park at 
Lasseville. He started at the painting of the 
valley of the Dalles where he had last seen 
Rose, and turned it to the wall. Must he 
then be reminded of her everywhere, and see 
her nowhere.? Was she to haunt him forever- 
more.? He sought his home to avoid all mem- 
ory of her, and she presented herself there at 
every turn. No, no, he was dead to her, he 
had blotted out all shadow of her, and she 
should not again torment him. Still he did 
not find the hoped-for peace. The calm of 
home was there, but a disturbing element from 
without came to ruffle it and destroy it. 

He strolled into the library and thought he 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS IJl 

would read, as sleep was out of the question. 
He dared not shut his eyes for the picture 
that would come up. His favorite poets were 
before him, yet he could not determine which 
one to take out of the case. He tried Cha- 
teaubriand, Hugo, de Vigny, Musset, Lamar- 
tine, Bauvide, de Lisle, and laid them down 
one after the other, unable to open the pages. 
At last he took up Alighieri mechanically 
and opened the volume. It might be said it 
opened itself in his hand. 

“Love that quick inflames the noble heart,” 
it said; “Love that does not grant the gift of 
loving to any creature loved — Love that leads 
to death.” 

Marcel shut the book, and flung it from him. 

Yes, he knew that triplet of maledictions! 
How often, kissed by the caressing raven hair, 
bound in close embrace, carrying on his 
shoulder the weight of a resting head, he had 
read them — read them — again and again — 
with her, the wild Rose, the wayward child 
of the woods, the variable, laughing, mocking, 
moody queen of the sneering mob — the demon 
of delight, his soul’s perdition. 

He walked up and down his room, once 
more overcome by the old excitement. 


172 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


“Love that leads to death!” Yes, that love 
must die for him. He would stifle it, kill it. 
He was master of himself now that she was 
away, and he was there in his home with his 
father and sister. He would think no more 
of her. He would efface her image from his 
mind, dispel the vanished phantom, the dream 
of a night disappearing at the dawn. His 
love 'was burned out. The flames had become 
extinct, the ashes were white and dead. She 
— Ha! ha! ha! and he burst into a fit of 
nervous laughter. 

By and by fatigue overcame him, and he 
put out his lamp, threw himself on his bed, 
and tried to sleep. 

His heavy head fell on the pillow, and he 
slept uneasily. 

He woke with a start, and sat up. 

He looked all around and saw nothing; the 
darkness was profound. 

A sharp pain traversed his frame, and he 
bounded out of bed. 

His heart tightened, his limbs trembled, and 
he had to grasp a chair to keep from falling. 
“It is she! she! the face I thought I had torn 
from my heart! the form I fancied dead to me 
forever! She! she! always she! The vanished 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


173 


phantom come to life in the night ! the cold 
white ashes risen from the dead! she! she!” 

He regained his feet and stood up threat- 
ening the ghost that haunted him. 

“Be it so!” he cried, in despair. “Be it so! 
If we are linked for life we shall go down to 
death together. I shall find you if you were 
concealed at the farthest corner of the earth. 
We made a compact, and I shall hold you to 
it. That agreement said that when one de- 
ceived the other, the knife should do its work. 
I shall meet you, and if you have betrayed 
me you shall die.” 


XXIII 

A STILL HUNT 

Jack Burroughs found Lasseville deserted. 
Both birds had flown and left no trace of their 
destination behind. He returned to Paris, 
resolved to get some news for Gabrielle, but 
weeks slipped by, and he was as much in the 
dark as ever. He wrote to her that he was 
working in her interest, but that he must de- 
prive himself of the pleasure of calling on her 
until he had something to communicate. He 
received the daintiest, prettiest little note in 
reply that ever went through the mails. It 
urged him, in a sweet and gentle way, to call 
and see the count. She was sure her father 
would be very glad to see him, on his own 
account. Jack folded the note and put it in 
his coat-pocket, saying to himself it was too 
soon. A curious change was taking place in 
him, and it made him so uncomfortable that 
he preferred to be alone until he emerged 
from the strange and peculiar feeling. He was 
angry with Rose for the first time in his life. 

174 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


175 


It seemed to him that she had juggled with 
him, made light of him, and tossed him off 
for a new caprice. He did not know, but he 
felt assured she was an agent of some Italian 
conspirators, and had run away from him to 
carry out their designs. That notion was 
borne out by the name she had assumed, the 
eminence she had risen to, the wealth she en- 
joyed. There was something desperate and 
deadly behind it all, and it was his duty to 
wait and try to save her. He knew some of 
the men who lurked in dark corners, and 
watched her. He had seen them flit like 
shadows by him in the night. They had 
shown their displeasure at his presence, and 
made it plain that if he became troublesome, 
he would be removed. But Marcel Besnard 
had nothing to do with all that ! He was a 
Frenchman, a mere secretary of the State 
Council, and in no way connected with the 
affairs of Italy. 

Consequently, it was a mere fancy, a wo- 
man’s whim, that pushed her to Marcel. 

Jack was not jealous, he was indignant. He 
felt that he had been lowered, insulted, made 
little of by a woman he loved. He would find 
her, and get an explanation. 


176 A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 

He would not judge her until he heard the 
facts. He knew her too well to place her in 
the category of other women. She was so im- 
pulsive, so fitful, so changeable, that no one 
but herself could give an excuse for her con- 
duct. 

Jack wondered at Marcel. He could not 
understand how a man could sacrifice such a 
home, and such a sister, for a woman like Rose. 

He had made himself the scandal of the 
town, and almost killed the fragile flower in 
his father’s home. 

But Jack would unearth him if it was only 
for her sake, and endeavor to persuade him 
that he was throwing his life away. 

He had heard that Marcel had gone flying 
over Europe in search of Rose, but he did not 
follow him, because he thought that Rose was 
concealed in Paris. She had flown from Las- 
seville with a strange man, and Jack put it 
down that her friends in Paris had demanded 
her presence there. 

There was some plot on foot, and no doubt 
time would reveal it and Rose. He had only 
to wait. In the meantime he kept his eye 
on the Italians. He assumed all sorts of dis- 
guises to keep the Italians from recognizing 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 1 77 

him, and he saw them go and come, day after 
day, as if they had nothing heavier on their 
minds than the cooking of the maccaroni for 
dinner. 

Marino and his associates, on their side, 
laughed at Jack’s labors and disguises. He 
never changed his dress but they recognized 
him. His giant figure, broad shoulders, and 
slow, loping gait made him a distinct person- 
age wherever he went, and Marino smiled 
when the great Englishman passed him, peer- 
ing out of a pair of blue goggles. 

One house at which all the Italians called, 
at one time or another, puzzled Jack. 

He had made all sorts of inquiries concern- 
ing it, and could hear of nothing likely to 
draw them there. 

There was not an Italian in the house, and 
only such women as worked for a living. 

There’was a man named Lazare, who ap- 
peared to be a small money-lender, but the 
conspirators could have no business with him; 
they were well supplied with money from 
Geneva at that period. 

Jack made several efforts to hire a room in 
the house, but failed, and the housekeeper 
was rather short with him when he went there 


12 


178 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


to make inquiries. He sent men there to en- 
gage apartments, but they met the same fate 
as he. 

They thought, with him, there was some- 
thing peculiar about the place, and made up 
their minds to ascertain what it was. 

All of a sudden M. Lazare left and the 
door-keeper became so polite they hardly 
knew him. The mystery, thickened around 
Jack. 

Lazare was somebody after all. Marino took 
his rooms when he moved, and the Italians 
continued to call, but another air surrounded 
the place; it lost its dark and secret tendency. 

Jack was blocked at every point, and it 
seemed intentionally. 

He was a man, however, who did not know 
when he was beaten, and so he kept on, as if 
nothing were in the way. 


XXIV 

A GREAT CHANGE 

The year 1858 opened in Paris with a flour- 
ish of violins, and to the rhythm of polkas and 
country dances. 

Fete followed fete in the official world, a 
very shamelessness of bureaucratic happiness 
reigned. There were balls in the Tuileries, 
and in the palaces of the ministers, balls also 
at the houses of the three presidents, and the 
prefects. Every evening there rose from the 
excited city a vast hodge-podge of pleasures, 
in which the rustling of silks tossed round in 
the waltz, risky sayings whispered in the ear, 
sonorous laughter bursting out from behind 
fans, and the thousand and one accompanying 
noises from streets, boulevards, restaurants 
and cafes. France in uniforni never feasted 
so gayly, danced so much, supped so heartily, 
or loved so fiercely. All were given to gayety; 
life is so short and empires fall so quickly. 

But, while nimble Paris was jumping in the 
179 


i8o 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


tumult of delight to the music of the band, 
and the men squeezed the waists of the wo- 
men decked out in violets, the existence of 
each member of the house in the Avenue Bre- 
teuil was monotonous and dull. Day succeeded 
day in that somber house the morrow as 
morose as yesterday. 

An entire transformation had taken place 
in the character of Marcel Besnard. 

The fashionable young man had disappeared 
and was replaced by a taciturn, almost savage 
being. 

He no longer supped in the famous cafes, 
went to the theaters where he had the right 
of the stage, or stayed at the club, coquetting 
with the queen of spades. What had he done 
with himself, the Viscount Besnard, the fa- 
vorite of the drawing-room, the conductor of 
the cotillons, for whom the mothers of families 
contended openly.^ He had become unsocial. 
He refused invitations, although they again 
began to pour in upon him, and hid himself 
from society. 

He had not even deigned to go to the feast 
“Monday” of the Empress, a grave infraction 
of etiquette. 

His father, disquieted and saddened, 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS l8l 

reprimanded him gently once or twice, but 
Marcel’s only reply was to shrug his shoulders. 
On the other hand, he was working like a 
beaver. 

Thanks to his father’s influence, his long 
absence from the Council of State was for- 
given, and he resumed his old seat. After a 
long reprimand from the ever eloquent 
Baroche, the Viscount Besnard resumed his 
functions. At eleven o’clock every morning 
he went to the palace of Orsay to begin his 
duties for the day. When the sitting was 
over at night he was the last to leave the 
place, and always alone. Then he took the 
least frequented streets home. He stole along 
the quays until he came to the bridge of Jena 
where he crossed the Seine, and found him- 
self in front of the Trocadero. That part of 
Paris at the time was a neighborhood to 
avoid. It suited Marcel on that account. He 
often gazed in the direction of Passy, where 
Rose had lived, and dreamed of his first visit 
there. 

Suddenly he would rise, shake off the hal- 
lucination that weighed him down, and rush 
home, pale, distressed, out of breath. 

The father shook his head sorrowfully when 


182 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 

he saw Marcel; Gabrielle wiped away the 
tears. He saw neither, and at the family table 
burst out now and again into sinister fits of 
laughter oi* remained completely silent, buried 
in dejection. 

One evening, however, he crossed the desert 
of the Trocadero and walked along the bank 
of the Seine almost to the first cottages of 
Auteuil. Then going east he traversed these 
desolate quarters, rising the hill of Bonlain- 
villiers, and, when about a third of the way 
up, turned to the right. Before him opened 
a mysterious alley, bordered by country 
houses. He stopped, not knowing what ar- 
rested his footsteps; the beauty of the spot, 
its culture in the midst of neglect, its beauty 
in the heart of ugliness, perhaps, or the fresh- 
ness of the perfume from the garden. 

Almost in front of him was a deep, wide gar- 
den with a house in the style of Louis XVI in 
the distance. 

He could not help looking at the house, it 
was so attractive, so new, so refreshing. In 
the dim twilight it looked deserted, but that 
might be because the inhabitants were in the 
rear. It was a large house, and capable of 
holding many people. At that hour, however, 


A PRtMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 1 83 

there were no signs of life about it. Marcel 
gazed, and presently, seized with an uncontrol- 
lable desire to know whether the house was 
tenanted or not, rushed through the gate and 
up to the door. He pulled the bell and 
waited, but po person appeared in answer. 
He rang again and again, with the same re- 
sult, and finally slunk away, believing that 
the house was the home of a miser who went 
to bed at sundown to save the expense of 
light. He turned his weary footsteps home- 
ward, and frightened his father and sister by 
his unusually desperate appearance. 

The next day Marcel went to the same 
house, and found it brilliantly lighted. He 
pulled the bell, and asked the servant who 
opened the door who lived there. 

“The Baron La Chesnaye,” replied the 
man, shutting the door in his face, thinking 
he was an escaped lunatic. 

“La Chesnaye !” repeated Marcel to him- 
self; “what can he be doing there.? Has he 
sold his place in the Avenue, and what can 
he be doing with such a pl^ce as that.? I shall 
call and see him.” 


XXV 


THE MESSENGER OF M. LAZARE 

When Marcel reached his own door that 
night he observed a man sitting on a step on 
the opposite side of the street. Snow and 
sleet were falling, it was bitterly cold, and 
Marcel wondered what the man could be do- 
ipg there in such weather. His head was bent 
to save his face from the blinding storm, and 
his arched neck was covered with snow and 
sleet. “He must be some vagabond,” thought 
Marcel, “out for a bad purpose, or a drunkard 
who is too sleepy to get any further.” 

The noise of the storm, beating on the 
sidewalk, prevented the man from hearing the 
viscount’s step, but he no sooner stopped 
than the man raised his head and crossed the 
street. “Viscount!” he said, as he faced Mar- 
cel, and stood before him. 

“Well, sir,” returned Marcel, taking his 
night-key out of his pocket. 

“This is the Viscount Besnard.^” 

184 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 185 

“It is.” 

“I asked for you, sir, but they told me you 
were out, so I sat down over the way to await 
your return.” 

“Yes,” replied Marcel, eyeing his man 
closely. They stood under the lamp of the 
house and Marcel was thus enabled to examine 
the new arrival at his leisure. He was a 
broad-shouldered, burly fellow of forty, with 
a heavy black beard, and hair that didn’t feel 
a comb every day. He had a loose, swinging 
gait, and a sturdy, reliant manner that in- 
stantly conveyed the impression that he would 
be an ugly customer to handle. He was 
dressed in the costume of a professional 
porter, but it was easy to detect the disguise. 

“Well, my man, what can I do for you.?” 
said Marcel, assuming a jolly, good-natured 
manner he was far from feeling. 

“I bring you a little souvenir, sir.” 

“A souvenir.?” exclaimed Marcel, as much 
surprised as he could well be. 

“Yes, a gift from M. Lazare.” 

“I don’t know M. Lazare.” 

“No.? Well, he knows you.” 

“He does.?” 

“Ah, yes.” 


i86 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


“Are you quite sure?” 

“You are Monsieur Marcel, Viscount Bes- 
nard?” 

“I am.” 

“Then you are the gentleman.” 

Marcel continued to observe the man. He 
had seen the face before, but he could not re- 
call where, or under what circumstances. He 
hunted his memory, but there was no name 
there answering for the person before him, 
nor anything more than a slight general rec- 
ognition. He had met the man — there was 
no doubt of that— and under unpleasant cir- 
cumstances, but where and when he could 
not even suggest. The heavy black beard 
and the masses of unbrushed hair were vivid 
in his mind, and the sinister sneer on the face 
was not to be forgotten, but Marcel was at 
sea about it all just then. He was a resident 
of the slums, that spoke for itself; he was 
accustomed to be out at night, and in all 
weathers, that was plain; Marcel must have 
seen him during one of his strolls along the 
river, or at the door of some all night cabaret 
in the exterior boulevards. He was a stranger. 
His accent denounced him at every word. He 
was either a Corsican or an Italian. As the 


A PRtMA t)ONNA OF THE SLUMS 187 

word Italian struck the mind of the young 
count he trembled from head to foot. A vague 
sense of alarm seized him. He was not afraid 
of the man but something in the meeting over- 
powered him. 

“Won’t you stand in out of the rain.?” said 
Marcel, about to open the door. 

The man got between him and the door. 

The movement was so sudden and quick 
that it drove Marcel into the middle of the 
sidewalk. 

“It is useless to go in, sir, you would nave 
to come out again at once,” said the man, 
respectfully. 

“Ah!” 

“Take some heart’s-ease,” said the man, 
holding out a candy box. “Take one!” 

The romantic phrase was pronounced in 
such a tone, that it made Marcel shiver: 
“Heart’s-ease.” 

Who then was this masquerader who di- 
vined his thoughts and feelings so accurately.? 
Wondering what it all meant he stretched out 
his hand. 

“I don’t often relish practical jokes, my 
friend,” said Marcel, “and I keep my cane 
ready for people of that class, who may inter- 


i88 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


cept me at inconvenient times. Now your 
box.” 

He took the box, and stood under the lamp. 
He tore off the paper, and came to a small 
box carefully sealed. He broke the seals with 
his knife, and opened the box. It contained 
a faded bouquet of wild roses. He started 
in surprise. His face became as white as the 
falling snow as he gazed, and the man in the 
shadow of the door almost grinned with ma- 
licious satisfaction. 

Marcel did not dare to touch the little bou- 
quet he held it in such veneration. It was 
not cold for him there in the street in the driv- 
ing storm. The rain did not wet him, the 
wind pierce his clothing, or the snOw and sleet 
have any effect on his boiling blood. The 
man in the doorway shrank up into himself 
and raised the collar of his coat about his ears. 

“The rose of the mountain streams,” thought 
Marcel, “the wild rose. The flower with 
which she decked herself, brought to me, 
here, now, at night, in the mystery and si- 
lence of the woods, where it lived, and I lived 
with her, whose emblem it was. She bore 
the same name, the same relation to the other 
flowers; both were queens of their kind.” His 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 1 89 

mind flew back to the days at Lasseville, and 
his uncontrollable love. It burst out anew 
as vigorous as ever, and showed that it was 
not dead, only slumbering. As he gazed into 
the box it seemed to him she had placed them 
there after kissing them, and they bore a 
message to him: 

“Take these flowers, Marcel; your Rose 
has sent them to you. They are wild like her, 
and have her name. In the dismal hours of 
the night when loneliness and suffering come to 
you, look at them, and when you think that 
love has left your heart, they will inspire you 
to keep on loving. They are tender links 
binding hearts of gold, oaths of fealty and 
truth never to be broken but by death, death, 
death.” 

His heart was bitten anew by the old sting, 
and the vision that had risen before him be- 
came reality. 

“Who sent me that. he asked in a voice 
without sound or music in it. 

“I already told you. M. Lazare.” 

“Where does M. Lazare live.’” 

“I came to bring you to him.” 

“What does he want with me.?” 

“He will tell you himself.” 


I go A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 

Marcel hesitated a moment, and added: 

“No, not to-night, come to-morrow.” 

The man shook his head, and in a solemn 
tone replied: “To-morrow will be too late. 
M. Lazare is dying, and a terrible secret is 
weighing on his conscience.” 

“Ah! I begin to understand.” 

“No, you cannot — come, be quick.” 

Marcel still hesitated, and the man bent 
toward him, saying: 

“He wants to speak to you of her. 

Her! Her! At last! The madness of love 
was stronger than reason, or the elements, 
and Marcel, turning to the man, said: “Lead 
the way.” 

They started up the street, the man in ad- 
vance, Marcel following. An empty carriage 
was passing the Esplanade as they reached 
that place. The man hailed it\nd both entered, 

“Montmartre,” said the man to the driver, 
“Place Saint Pierre, below Church Street.” 

When they were leaving the cab at the end 
of the journey a tall, athletic figure passed 
them on the other side of the street. 

He recognized Marino in an instant, and 
the next detected Marcel. 

He had been in that neighborhood for sev- 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS igi 

era! days in search for M. Lazare. He had no 
doubt now he had found him, but what con- 
nection was there between him and Viscount 
Besnard? Jack Burroughs meant to see. 


XXVI 


MONSIEUR LAZARE 

“Here we are,” said the man who had 
guided Marcel. “This is the house. Ask for 
the apartments of Signora Julia Nagri. M. 
Lazare lives there. I leave you here. My 
mission is ended. Good night.” 

He turned and went down the street. He 
had scarcely turned his back on Marcel than 
Jack Burroughs crossed to him. Marcel had 
rung the bell, and the door was opened. Jack 
passed in behind him, and accosted him. 
Marcel confronted Jack the moment he spoke 
and said: “Excuse me, I don’t recognize you, 
and now — stop, I think I do.” 

“Burroughs of London.” 

“Oh, yes, to be sure. Beg your pardon 1 
You came so suddenly on me that I was put 
out for the moment. Do you live in this 
house .^” 

“No, I was passing along the street on the 
other side and came over when I saw you.” 

103 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


193 


‘‘Well, I must ask you to excuse me to- 
night. I have an important engagement in this 
house, and don’t know how long I may be 
detained, but I shall be glad to see you to- 
morrow.” 

“I want to see you to-night. It may be too 
late to-morrow. I shall wait here in the court- 
yard until you have finished with M. Lazare.” 
“Ah! you know where I am going.^” 

“I suspect. I know the man who conducted 
you here, and I believe him to be in league 
with this M. Lazare. Lazare lived not long 
since in another place and mysteriously dis- 
appeared. This man who came here with 
you used to visit him there, and then took his 
room. I have been looking for Lazare since, 
and have not succeeded in finding him, 
although I traced him to this neighborhood. 
I should probably not have been able to lo- 
cate him but for you to-night. That explains 
my presence here. The man who accom- 
panied you here is an Italian conspirator 
named Marino. He follows in the wake of a 
certain lady, and has direct relations with 
Lazare. Of course Lazare is an assumed 
name, the real one you will no doubt soon 
learn. What the inducements were that Marino 
13 


194 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


offered to induce you to come here I do not 
know, but they must be powerful to effect 
that purpose at this time of night.” 

Marcel listened attentively, while the porter 
stood at his window waiting to ascertain what 
he wanted. 

All of a sudden a light broke in upon Marcel 
and he exclaimed; “No, you are mistaken; I 
remember now — the man’s name isTraventi; 
he was one of the seconds of the Prince de 
Carpegna in the duel.” 

“Ah!” 

“Yes. I recollect him now distinctly. I 
. thought I knew the tangled mass of beard, 
and the unkempt hair. Besides, that Satanic 
smile could never be forgotten. I was very 
preoccupied at the moment, or I should have 
recognized him.” 

“There is something weighty afoot.” 

“You think so.?” 

“I am sure of it.” 

“I cannot be connected with it.” 

“Will you allow me to go up to M. Lazare’s 
with you.?” 

“I hardly see how I can do that.” 

“Why not.?” 

“Well, I can’t just exactly tell you now.” 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


195 


“I am a friend you met accidentally here, 
and that is good reason why you should allow 
me to go with you.” 

“I am not afraid.” 

“I do not insinuate that you are.” 

“ I am in honor bound to see this man alone. ” 

“Then I shall wait for you.” 

“You may do that.” 

Marcel went over to the porter, and asked 
for Madame Nagri. “Second floor,” said the 
man. 

“This gentleman is a friend of mine,” he 
added, turning to Jack; “would you kindly let 
him stand in out of the rain until I come 
down 

“Certainly; walk in, sir,” replied the porter, 
saluting Jack. 

Marcel went up to the second floor, and 
Jack stepped into the old man’s lodge. He 
slipped a napoleon into his hand, and the 
man, surprised, looked up and thanked him. 

Jack pulled out a long cigar, and lighted it, 
knowing full well if he kept silent the man 
would talk. He did. 

“Your friend is a doctor, I suppose,” he said ; 
“well, I think it’s too late for a doctor now. 
From what I have heard Madame Nagri say 


ig6 A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 

the old gentleman is in the last stages. She 
does not expect him to go through the night 
— that’s why they have sent for the physician. 
I suppose they have had several already, for 
there have been a great many gentlemen 
here, calling on the signora, since this old 
gentleman came to live with her, and some of 
them must have been doctors.” 

“Maybe they came on business,” suggested 
Jack. 

“Business!” cried the old porter, in amaze- 
ment; “what business could a man like him 
carry on; in a house like this! No, indeed, 
nothing of that sort. I hardly saw him when 
he came, he was so muffled up, and there were 
so many round him, but I could make out 
that he was a dignified, exclusive man, and in 
no way connected with business. Business.^ 
Why, they bow and scrape before him as if he 
were a great minister, or lawyer, or judge, 
maybe — I have seen how they entered the 
room and came out as I went up and down 
the stairs. Once I heard Madame de Nagri 
let slip the word ‘Prince’ and another time 
she called him ‘Monsignor.’ She tried to 
cover it up, but not before I saw she had be- 
trayed herself. My wife knows more than I 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


197 


do, but she won’t tell. That is, she won’t tell 
me ; she’d tell you and welcome, you could 
not stop her. It’s different with me. I’m not 
given to talking. You’re English — yes, I can 
see that — you English don’t talk much. I’m 
like you, but the French they hand everything 
out. I don’t. I kefep things to myself; only 
when I see people trying to hide things I think 
it is my duty to find them out. What am I 
given an intelligence for if not to use it? Just 
so. I hate talkers, mere talkers, they are such 
a nuisance. That’s one of the reasons why 
Gertrude and I get along so badly. She talks 
so much and blames it on me. I married the 
wrong woman, sir, I did, indeed, and I have 
been regretting it ever since. Another man 
married the right one, and then she went 
wrong. But such is life. We have not had a 
death in the house for ten years. I don’t like 
death, and I don’t like it in the house. The 
landlord does not like it either. It makes the 
tenants uneasy. We have nothing here but 
young people, mostly working people, but 
young and gay. I am not young myself, but 
I am lively. Gertrude pretends that I am too 
friendly with the young women, but that’s her 
spite. If the girls like to talk to me, that is 


igS A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 

not my fault. I have to listen, and I do.” 

The old fellow rattled on, but Jack was not 
paying attention to him. He was ttiinking of 
the “prince” and the “monsignor” and wonder- 
ing what it could mean. This monsignor, this 
prince, had assumed the name of Lazare for 
. some purpose; what was that purpose.? What 
prince was he.? The Prince de Carpegna.? And 
Jack almost bounded from his seat at the idea. 
No, that could not be. He was killed in the 
duel; but after all, suppose he were not killed 
in the duel, but feigned death. Lazare — the 
name translated itself at once in Jack’s mind 
— Lazarus, risen from the dead. “That’s it,” 
bethought. “The fellow played a trick, and is 
going to play another of the same kind. He 
will die to-night, and lead this young man into 
some trap. But — why.? What has this young 
Frenchman to do with their Italian plots, and 
how can he subserve them .? She is an accom- 
plice. She whom I loved, she whom I 
adored, she for whom I would have lain down 
my life — she left me coldly, brutally to take 
up with these men, and her mission was a 
mission of blood.” He shuddered, and the 
image of a pale, lame girl came into his mind 
with refreshing sweetness.^ 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


199 


Marcel pulled the bell at the door on the 
second floor, and a female voice inside asked: 
“Whom do you want?” 

“Signora Nagri,” replied Marcel. 

“It is I,” said an old lady, opening the door 
a little; “what do you wish at this late hour?” 

“Can I see M. Lazare?” 

“See him!” exclaimed the woman, and she 
clasped her hands; “the good God will soon 
see him.” 

She stopped and listened. 

“He is calling, I think — wait, I shall be 
back in a moment.” 

She closed the door, leaving Marcel in the 
dark corridor. 

A vague terror, mixed with shame, gained 
on him little by little. “What! Was he going 
to be a witness of this man’s death, maybe 
his agony? No, what an indignity!” 

He felt like running away, but something 
stayed him. Some unknown power held him. 
There in the dark he felt that mysterious 
swaying force that had so often held him be- 
fore, and he could not move. 

“I must remain,” he said to himself. “If by 
chance this dying man possesses a secret — a 
secret, it may be, on which my repose and life 


200 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


depend — I must hear it, know it, act on it. 
He sent for me — I am here; I shall stay.” 

At last the old lady returned, opened the 
door carefully, and made a sign for him to 
enter. 

“You are welcome, sir,” she said; “come in. 
The old man insists on seeing you. Ah! he is 
going rapidly, the dear, sweet old man.?” 

And then by word, gesture, and the whole 
expression of her body, all her Italian mim- 
icry, said at once, “Mr. Lazare is dying fast.” 

She conducted Marcel to the parlor of the 
apartment, opened the door for him, and dis- 
creetly stood aside while he went in. 

The opening of the door aroused a figure 
reclining in an easy chair, and without rising 
the man called out in a feeble voice: “Come 
in, viscount, come in, and welcome.” 

Marcel walked straight to the man, looked 
at him, and stepped back in amazement. 

“You.?” he cried. 

He had recognized the Prince de Carpegna. 

An almost imperceptible smile passed over 
the face of the man in the chair. 

“I!” said he; “I’m — excuse me rising — 
I’m dying. Take a chair. This time I am 
going. I changed my mind when last you 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


201 


saw me, and concluded I would stay a bit. 
This is almost as pleasant a meeting as our 
last, is it not? You come here and find a man 
dead a year, just come out of the tomb — eh! 
Lazarus woke up and — the Prince de Car- 
pegna stepped out of the sepulcher. Like a 
pantomime, isn’t it. Better though, for it is 
real. Sit down, sir, sit down. We must have 
a little chat together; we have lots of things 
to talk about, you and I. It is a year since 
we met; many extraordinary events have 
transpired in that year. Good, that’s right; 
now you are more at ease. Misericordi! you 
look at me as frightened as was Don Juan be- 
fore the statue of the Commander.” 

He was taken with a cough and a fit of 
suffocation very painful to witness. He put 
his hand out toward a glass on a small table 
near him and drank a few mouthfuls of the 
medicine it contained. 

“This is what they call ‘the health of the 
dying,’” he said, holding up the glass before 
him, and then turning his white face to Mar- 
cel. “It is made from a Milanese recipe, and 
is an admirable discovery of the great Verga. 
Would you like to taste it? No? Well,” and 
he set down the glass. He smiled again, the 


202 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


same silent, stealthy, deadly smile, that was 
like a ripple of hate rolling over his blanched 
lips, and crossed his hands in his lap. 

“Youth has no sympathy with the dying or 
death; why should it? Young life is its life, 
decay its bane. I hope you will excuse my 
sending for you, and, above all, bringing you 
to this poor place. I could not find another 
so suitable in every respect. The worthy wo- 
man who gave me a resting place here is a 
brave and courageous creature, once in a high 
position — she is a compatriot, devoted — as we 
are all — to the cause of our unhappy Italy. 
Yes, my good Julia,” he continued, turning 
to the old lady, “we shall continue leaving our 
bones in every clime on earth free enough to 
grant us an exile, but the grateful winds shall 
carry our souls to our native land; and there 
the well-beloved sons that have taken our 
place shall breathe us, and be inspired to 
noble efforts for freedom. With our love for 
Italy they imbibe our hate for her enemies 
and those who have injured her and betrayed 
her, and they will carry on the work of re- 
venge while we are sleeping in foreign graves.” 

The old lady was weeping, and the prince 
once more addressed Marcel, who deemed the 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


203 


burst of patriotism in the prince quite natural 
under the circumstances. 

“You will excuse my little burst of eloquence, 
viscount, and you may understand it although 
you are a Parisian. Where was I.? Oh! yes. 
The Prince de Carpegna could not receive you 
in a palace here in Paris though he might in 
Ravenna. Besides, he is now in concealment, 
or rather dead, but will be in reality dead to- 
morrow. I found it convenient to die after the 
duel; no use explaining why; it would not in- 
terest you, and had for a cause matters wholly 
foreign to you. I am now M. Lazare, and 
as M. Lazare I say you are welcome.” 

“Thank you,” blurted out Marcel. 

The old man paused, gazed around, and 
whispered: 

“Our lovely Rose is in Paris. Do you want 
to see her.?” 

Marcel could not conceal his surprise, but 
did not speak. The coolness with which this 
husband spoke of his wife appalled him. 

“Oh! I comprehend,” continued the old 
man. “I can read even to the bottom of your 
heart. You say to yourself, ‘This Prince de Car- 
pegna is an infamous old wretch, and a cyni- 
cal gamester.’ You are wrong, sir; my honor, 


204 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


such as I regard it, is as fair as yours. As to 
my morals, I care little as to what may be 
thought of them here. Besides, I did not dis- 
turb you too soon; and I would have willingly 
waited longer; but death, with which I have 
already played, will not await me. It is draw- 
ing me on, it is choking me — the result of cer- 
tain wounds you know of — and I cannot ward 
it off. You are a fine hand with the pistol, 
viscount; I wish you had one with you and 
would finish your work. It would put me out 
of pain, save me a great deal of suffering. Oh! 
what anguish you have caused me! In return 
I wish to do good for evil. I don’t blame 
you, mind. It was all fair and honorable, 
although the result has been bitter to me. It 
might have been the other way. I am glad 
now I fired in the air. I acted on impulse, I 
have all my life, and a man who does rarely 
regrets it. The heart is always right. It is 
only the head that goes wrong. I could not 
coolly take a young life. I am a passably 
good hand with the pistol, too; at least I was. 
Have you got a coin.!* No. Julia, get me that 
long pistol in the box in the library and a 
copper coin ; see if you have an English penny. 
I may be too far gone, viscount, and have lost 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


205 


the steadiness of nerve and arm, but it’s no 
harm to try. Don’t be alarmed, sir. I fired 
my shot, I am not going to send a second in 
the same direction.” 

The old woman brought the pistol and the 
prince requested her to throw up the coin. 
She did so, and he hit it with the same ease 
he would have hit an elephant. He bowed 
to Madame Nagri and handed her back the 
weapon. 

“The hand is steady, still, sir. I would 
hardly have believed it. Well, sir, I did not 
send for you to give an exhibition of my skill, 
but before expiring I wished to make one man 
happy, and that man is you. I repeat then 
our lovely Rose is here in Paris; say, do you 
wish to see her.?” 

The prince was seized with another cough- 
ing spell, and again sought the preparation of 
the great Verga. He recovered and with his 
eye concentrated on Marcel, who was too 
thunderstruck to speak, he went on: 

“What a charming woman she is. A god- 
dess! Eyes of Venus and the head and hair of 
Juno! Alert in intellect, turning a madrigal 
like Dechonliers, and writing prose like 
Sevigne. Did she exercise those talents much 


2o6 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


for you, or did she confine herself to blank 
verse? A great genius but poor, very poor, 
like all the great talents. Who is paying her 
expenses now? It is not I — no, indeed, I assure 
you of that. Is it you? It must be, of course. 
Excuse me, don’t pull your glove like that, — 
an act of violence to a dying man would be an 
outrage, and you are a gentleman. At least, 
I hope so. But tell me who is keeping Rose 
at this moment?” 

Each word was pronounced in a low voice, 
with frequent interruptions of coughing, 
of quasi-suffocations, long pauses, sinister, 
soundless laughter; it was hideous. 

Marcel was on a gridiron, but he could not 
have stirred if his bones were being torn apart 
on a rack. There was a fascination about the 
devilish work of the old fiend before him that 
held him spellbound, and he could neither 
move nor speak. He felt like jumping on the 
old viper, and trampling the life out of him, 
and yet he feared he might lose something 
there was to tell. So he waited, determined 
to hear it all out. The prince seemed to sink 
and fade, and be compelled to seek the as- 
sistance of the Milanese remedy oftener and 
oftener, but finally nerving himself for a su- 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


207 


preme effort, he drank some brandy and massed 
all his energy, as if to deliver a last assault. 

“For my own part,” he said, “for the past 
year I have been dead to everyone. The igno- 
miny of my widow could not reach me in the 
tomb where I was believed to be resting. You 
follow me.^” 

Marcel nodded his head. 

“My honor as a husband was thus safe. 
But, you, sir, who had been the public lover 
of that woman ! — you, who before all Paris, ran 
off, and went to live with her, and wanted to 
marry her — you, from whom she ran away — 
you who are dying from her abandonment! 
What are you going to do 

Marcel rose, trembling in every nerve, and 
paced the room. 

“Well, sir.” 

“Enough! I will hear no more!” 

“Oh! you will hear no more! But you must 
hear some more. You must hear it all, every 
word if I shall be allowed the time to repeat 
it. My young friend, you do not seem to un- 
derstand. You are plodding along in the Coun- 
cil of State, the ridicule of all Paris. Ha! Ha! 
Ha! While, poor fool, you were flying all 
over Europe in search of her, she was living 


2o8 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


comfortably here in Paris with another — a 
new lover. 

“His name?” 

“Ah! you must find that out for yourself, 
my dear young friend. How they must mock 
and laugh at you. You don’t go to the clubs 
now, or you would hear what jokes the young 
men made at your expense. Ah! you don’t 
wish to hear any more, you don’t want to un- 
derstand. But, at this very instant, while I 
am talking to you, they are together. She is 
probably leaning her head on his shoulder, 
and his arm is caressing her waist. You 
know what a lovely, loving way she has of 
resting that classic head on your shoulder ! Ah ! 
God! how happy I was when I used to see and 
feel it here,” and he laid his bony hand on his 
shoulder, “and yet she went and pillowed it 
on yours with as much show of affection.” 

“ Enough ! Enough ! The name of this man ?” 

“How she could recite, and act, and sing, 
and play, a veritable queen of all the arts. 
She was, indeed a prima donna of the slums. 
Another now supports that head, rains kisses 
on those lips, that hair, that head, listens to 
the rapturous music of her voice, or counts 
the palpitations of her heart.” 






THE OLD MAN FELI ON THE FLOOR 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


209 


“Who is the man? Quick! or I shall do the 
tardy work of death!” 

“How pale you are, dear viscount! Tell me, 
do you still refuse to see her? Are you afraid 
of the man?” 

Marcel rushed over and took him with both 
hands, completely lifting him out of the chair. 
“You miserable wretch! you are well worthy 
of your country! Not daring to strike yourself, 
you want to incite another to do it. I am 
ready; it is all one to me. His name! His 
name!” 

“They are together to-night! Do you hear? 
To-night — together — in the big house on the 
left of the alley above the Champs de Mars.” 

“I know ! I know !” 

“Go! Run! Run! But be armed! Here, 
take that!” and he handed him the pistol; 
the viscount knocked it out of his hand. The 
old man looked at him, and laughed the same 
hard, cold laugh, coughed, suffocated, and fell 
on the floor. Madame Nagri rushed over to 
him and cried out, “He is dead!” 

“So much the better,” returned Marcel, 
and he strode out of the apartment. 


XXVII 


A DISMAL NIGHT 

He had forgotten all about Jack, and only 
remembered when he saw him in the porter’s 
lodge. 

He just nodded to him, and they passed out 
in company. “You will excuse me to-night, 
if you please,” said Marcel, “I shall be glad to 
see you to-morrow.” 

“That won’t do,” replied Jack. “What I 
have to say to you must be said to-night. To- 
morrow would be too late.” 

“I have something to do yet to-night; it is 
late now and I am pressed for time.” 

“It is only just ten; here is a cafe^ let us go 
in. I won’t take long. You have been a good 
while with the prince.” 

“Ah! you know?” 

“I do. He is dead?” 

“Yes, I saw him fall dead on the floor. The 
old woman pronounced him gone. I did not 
wait to lift him up.” 


210 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


21 1 


“You were right. I hope he is dead, but I 
doubt it.” 

“I think there is no doubt about it this 
time.” 

“Well, so much the better.” 

Jack was a good deal surprised at Marcel’s 
coolness. He thought it strange, as the prince 
must certainly have said something about 
Rose. He made no remark about it, how- 
ever, contenting himself with waiting for 
developments. 

“I should like to go back and watch that 
house to-night,” said Jack, “and was going to 
ask you to go with me only you are in such a 
hurry.” 

“Why so? What can there be about that 
house to render it so interesting.?” 

“Let us go and see.” 

“No, I can do nothing to-night.” 

“Whatever you have in mind may be affected 
by what goes on in that house to-night.” 

“It would not.” 

“You are sure of that.?” 

“Quite sure.” 

“Then I shall go alone.” 

“Will you allow me to ask you a question.?” 

“Certainly. I am here to give you infor- 
mation.” 


212 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


“You are an Englishman, and a lawyer, why 
do you mix yourself up with these Italians?” 

“That is a leading question, and one I came 
here to answer. It is better perhaps you put 
it that way. It enables me to begin at the be- 
ginning, and relate the whole story. You may 
interrupt where you like, only be ready for 
surprises, and remember it all occurred pre- 
vious to your entrance on the scene.” 

“Yes,” growing very white, and trembling 
in spite of his coolness and effort to keep 
down excitement. 

“Some five years ago when I was starting as 
a young barrister in London I made the ac- 
quaintance of a girl who used to go around 
the streets singing with a band of Italian mu- 
sicians. She was very beautiful, had a glorious 
voice and dressed in a sort of semi-stage cos- 
tume. I gave her a shilling and a crown when 
I had one, took her to dinner in my rooms, 
and finally she became my mistress.” 

“You lie!” cried Marcel, jumping to his 
feet. “That is — I beg your pardon— Go on 
— never mind. I did not mean it;” reseating 
himself. 

“Don’t indulge in that sort of thing,” said 
Jack; “for in the first place I don’t like it, and 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


213 


in the next it will cause a disturbance here. I 
speak the truth, and am speaking it because I 
promised one most dear to you and — well, no 
matter — that I should do all in my power to 
bring you to reason. It is no more pleasant 
to me to tell all this than it is for you to hear 
it.” 

“Who is the person for whom you are mak- 
ing this sacrifice.?” . 

“I won’t name her here.” 

“Will you outside.?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, I won’t interrupt you again.” 

“One night my mistress came to me and 
said, ‘Jack, I am going to leave you.’ I had 
grown to love her deeply, and was stunned. 
She seemed to love me, and cut up a good 
deal about going, but the next day she was 
gone. I searched London pretty thoroughly 
for her, and all I could learn from her old 
companions about her was that she had met 
some gentlemen and had gone away. She 
went by the name of Rose. In fact, that is 
her name; and since I have been in Paris I 
have learned that her other name is Lavetti.” 

“Lavetti.?” exclaimed Marcel. 

“Yes. She is the daughter of Scipione 


214 ^ PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 

Lavetti, an Italian patriot murdered by a 
Frenchman.” 

“My father!” and the viscount dropped his 
head on his hands on the table. 

“Ah! that explains it all. I could not un- 
derstand why the prince provoked you to a 
duel, and she eloped with you, but it is all 
plain now. It was a plan to ruin you and 
your family.” 

“They succeeded.” 

“I hope not.” 

“They have! They have!” 

“We shall beat them yet.” 

“You don’t know what you say!” 

“I heard that Rose w’as in Paris and I came 
over. She returned to me for a night, and 
then fled with you. I loved her then; I think 
now she ought to be punished. At all events, 
warned now, I beg of you to go home, and 
endeavor to quiet your father and sister on 
your absence. I will return to that house, 
and let you know to-morrow how matters 
stand.” 

“Thank you,” said Marcel rising. 

They parted at the door, Jack going back 
toward the house in Church Street, Marcel in 
the other direction. He wondered at the 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 21 «| 

athletic Englishman, and the easy, undisturbed 
way he talked of love. He smiled and thought, 
“They never love.” 

He went on his course, and his face assumed 
a stolid, fateful look that boded no good to 
Rose. 

Jack got to the house, but he was too late. 
A body that had been purchased at the 
morgue during the afternoon, under pretense 
that it was for a medical clinic, was brought 
into the room during the day. It was laid 
on M. Lazare’s bed; and Signora Nagri 
was armed with a doctor’s certificate in due 
form. 

As soon as Marcel left the place the prince 
jumped to his feet, and began to robe him- 
self suitably for the night and a journey. 

Marcel and Jack had only disappeared 
when Marino returned with a dozen friends. 
The doctor had informed them that M. Lazare 
was dead. While he was saying that to the 
porter the others passed up stairs. They did 
not stay long, and when they descended the 
prince was among them, one of the most 
alert. They left the house, and Paris that 
night by different trains. They were gone 
when Jack put in his second appearance. 


^l6 ' A PklMA DONNA OK THE SLUMS 

Madame Nagri went with her sacred charge 
the next day to have it interred at Ravenna. 


XXVII I 


THE MYSTERIOUS HOUSE 

Marcel walked rapidly at first, and then 
slackened his pace. His head was bent, not 
so much to escape the blinding rain as in 
thought. It seemed to him the Prince de 
Carpegna was beside him. When he reached 
the exterior boulevard he sank on a bench by 
a tree and rested. “Lavetti.?” he said; “the 
daughter of Scipione Lavetti — and she came 
like a serpent to wind herself round my heart 
and sting me to death. Yes, I am dead. She 
shall die, too, but not the death I have suf- 
fered, *she shall die by my hand. She made 
the compact. It shall be kept.” 

Just then he thought he heard the laughter 
of the husband, the cough and the rattle in 
his throat. He heard him hiss, “They are 
together to-night, to-night,” and urge him on 
to slay them. “La Chesnaye, an old idiot, 
who had been his second; he deserved his 
217 


2i8 


A PkIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


fate. They are now in that house, at this 
moment, and I am dawdling here.” 

He stood up, and went on. Descending the 
quarter of the Martyrs, he soon reached the 
Faubourg Montmartre, and Le Peletier Street. 
The neighborhood was crowded with people. 
There was a masked ball in progress in the 
old Opera House, and young people in masks, 
dominos and fancy costumes, were moving 
about in all directions. All the little stores 
in the opera arcade were open. Marcel went 
into an armorer’s up near the theater, and 
bought a pistol. He had it charged, and put 
it in his pocket. He then went out on the 
boulevard, jumped into a cab and was driven 
to within a few yards of the mouth of the 
alley. 

Notwithstanding the advanced hour and 
the biting cold, the slope of the Bonlain- 
villiers hill was not so deserted as ordinarily. 

Here and there human figures went and 
came like shadows in the night. A little be- 
low the angle of the alley a carriage stood be- 
side a hedge, almost imperceptible. It was a 
coupe, and the lamps were out. Marcel 
stooped, looked at the panel of the door, and 
saw it bore an “L.” 


A PRIMA DONNA OP THE SLUMS 


219 


“La Chesnaye!” he said to himself. “He 
is here.’^ 

The blood bounded into his head, which, up 
to that moment, was cool and collected, he 
trembled with anger, and grasping the handle 
of the pistol in his pocket, he dashed up the 
alley. The storm lightened; only a few 
flakes of snow seemed to dance in space, but, 
on the narrow thoroughfare, the snow and 
the ice melted together, and formed a heavy, 
muddy swamp. It was hard to walk in it. 
The alley was as black as pitch, though every 
once in a while flashes of moonlight swept 
across it. An ominous silence reigned around. 
When Marcel approached the house he no- 
ticed that it appeared to be shut up. Streaks 
of light, however, were noticeable through 
the blinds on every floor. 

They were there. 

Mcfrcel crept along under cover of the hedge 
for fear of coming in contact with one of the 
ghostly figures moving here and there in the 
darkness. He slipped over the fence, got into 
the garden, and crouched beneath a tree. At 
that moment a sudden burst of moonlight 
showed him two men approaching from the 
other end of the garden. They had evidently 


220 


A PRtMA DONKA of THE SLUMS 


seen him. He rose and started to run, they 
dashed forward at full speed toward him. 

‘‘Damnation! they have seen me! Bah! It’s 
too late,” he cried to himself; “one effort, and 
I may defeat them.” He dashed to the left 
to deceive his pursuers and the moon became 
covered again with thick clouds. He suddenly 
shifted his course, and made straight across 
the lawn. He reached the veranda and 
was sheltered by its overhanging roof. The 
blinds of the lower windows were closed, and 
behind them two persons were talking in low, 
soft accents. In the pauses they were per- 
haps kissing, and Marcel went almost mad. 

In an access of rage Marcel tore the outer 
fastenings from the blinds, and they gave way. 
The inside locks had been forgotten. The 
noise alarmed those in the room and Marcel 
heard a cry he only too well recognized. The 
light was suddenly put out, and darkness suc- 
ceeded. Marcel threw himself against the 
high deep window with all his force and it 
yielded. He dashed into the room. He 
stood a moment, looking all around, trying 
to discern some object, but could see nothing 
— suddenly by a light being carried up the 
stairway outside, and which illuminated part 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


221 


of the room through the window over the 
door, he saw a figure stealing across the room 
on tiptoe and endeavoring to escape through 
the adjoining apartment. Marcel pulled out 
his weapon and fired. In an instant he was 
seized and thrown on the floor. A woman’s 
shriek pierced the night air, and then all was 
still as death. Two heavy knees were placed 
on Marcel’s chest and the pistol taken away 
from him. He remained as he had been 
thrown and made no effort to escape. Con- 
fused murmurs and the rushing of feet were 
heard in the house, with stifled exclamations — 
a silent turrlult. Then the front door opened, 
a carriage drove up and an instant later drove 
away. A man’s voice was raised clear and dis- 
tinct — it was La Chesnaye. 

“Don’t be uneasy, gentlemen,” he said, “the 
Emperor is not wounded.” 

“The Emperor!” exclaimed Marcel on the 
floor. 

The lights were turned up, the house illum- 
inated, the police entered with torches. Be- 
fore them walked the Princess de Carpegna, 
her hair disheveled, her night dress in dis- 
order, pale, trembling, shoeless. She went 
over to the man they were still holding on 


222 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


the floor, and when she saw who it was she 
burst into a sinister fit of laughter. 

“The viscount!” she exclaimed; “why, what 
a curious thing for him to do!” 

“Away with him!” she cried, waving her 
arm with a majestic movement to the police. 
“He is worthy of his father!” 


XXIX 

VERY URGENT 

Paris woke on Friday morning, January 15, 
1858, to learn that Orsini had made an at- 
tempt on the life of the Emperor. The news 
was slow in spreading, for some reason, and 
was not known in some districts until quite 
close to noon. It was about nine o’clock 
when old Philomene brought the Count Bes- 
nard his morning paper; two letters and some 
packages. 

The count was dressed, and ready to go to 
church as usual with his daughter. He ap- 
peared to be suffering more than on the pre- 
vious day. The doctor had said that he was 
not to be annoyed or disturbed, and that he 
needed absolute calm. 

Calm ! and the count was dovoured by in- 
quietude for his son. He had not seen him 
for forty-eight hours and could not think what 
had become of him. 

He left the Council of State at the usual 
323 


224 A PRliMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 

hour on Wednesday, and no one had seen 
him since. 

When the old servant entered the room 
Gabrielle ran to her, and took the letters and 
papers out of her hands. 

She looked at the letters and dropped them 
hurriedly, for there was not one from Marcel. 
They were official letters, and she was not in- 
terested in them. One had the stamp of the 
Council of State, the other the letters P. O., 
and the words, “very urgent;” she handed 
them to her father. The count took one of 
the letters without a word, and broke the seal. 
It was a notice of meeting written in a curious 
style and pressing: 

“Sir and dear colleague: — By decision of the 
S. E. M., the minister, president of the Coun- 
cil of State, the council will meet to-day in 
general assembly extraordinary, at three 
o’clock. You are invited to attend the sitting. 
The object will be important communications, 
and the reading of an address to his Majesty 
the Emperor. Bailay.” 

“What can be the matter.^” said the old 
man, surprised at the unusual formalities. 

He tore off the band enclosing his morning 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


225 


paper, and glanced over it. His eye encoun- 
tered the news of the Orsini affair and he 
cried: 

“Another attempt! The scoundrels.” 

Then trembling visibly, and for the moment 
neglecting the second letter, he opened the 
journal, and read in a loud voice: 

“At half past eight o’clock last night, as 
their Majesties, the Emperor and Empress, 
arrived at the Opera House, three explosions 
of projectiles were heard. A number of per- 
sons standing in front of the theater were in- 
jured, many fatally. 

“Their Majesties escaped. 

“An investigation was at once begun and 
several persons were arrested.” 

The count threw down the paper, and 
walked the room in a highly nervous condition. 

“This is abominable!” he cried; “abomina- 
ble ! And now these ministers, frightened out 
of their miserable lives, are going to try and 
pass exceptional laws, looking to their own 
safety. I shall oppose them. Where were 
they when their master was attacked.!^ At 
their pleasures!” 

“ Oh ! father, ” supplicated Gabrielle, “ think 


15 


226 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


of your health, for our sakes, for mine, for 
Marcel’s.” 

The old man motioned her back with a 
wave of the hand, and continued his march. 
It calmed him finally, and he went over and 
sat at the table near his daughter. His e3^es 
fell on the second letter, which he had forgot- 
ten in his excitement. He took it up and 
opened it. ^‘Ha! Ha!” he said; “a note from 
the minister of state, the most cynical corrup- 
ter of the government; my minister, and, fur- 
thermore, my personal enemy. ‘ By order, ’ and 
‘very urgent.’ My goodness! what an amount 
of business all in one morning! Why does he 
honor me with his prose!” 

He tore open the envelope, and his face 
expressed the most intense surprise. 

“What is this enigma!” he asked. “Help 
me to understand it, child; listen!” and he 
read: 

“Count: — His excellency the minister of 
state pra)^s you to come without delay to his 
office for an object of the highest gravity, and 
which concerns you. If you will kindly come 
on the reception of this the minister will be 
obliged. He will wait for you until eleven 
o'clock. Baron Ephraim Cohen.” 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


227 


“An object of the highest gravity concerning 
you,” repeated the count, and his hands trem- 
bled. 

“I don’t understand!” 

“Nor I, father,” said Gabrielle. 

“What is this mystery? What does he want 
me for — this man, with his language of a po- 
tentate?” 

He rang for the carriage, 

“Well, I will go and see. Don’t expect me 
back before evening.” 

He kissed his daughter on the forehead and 
said: 

“Go to Saint Vallery, my child. Pray to 
Almighty God for us all. For me, him — him 
who is absent and we know not where. Ask 
Him to be merciful to us all. He will listen 
to you.” 


XXX 

BAD NEWS 

The servant announced the carriage, and 
the count was putting on his overcoat when 
the front door-bell rang. 

“Who can that be,” said the count, “at this 
hour.^ Maybe some news from my son.” 

A servant knocked and Gabrielle went to 
see what he wanted. He brought a card on a 
salver. “For the count,” said the man. 

The old man took the card, and read: 
“John Algernon Burroughs An Englishman. 
I don’t know any such person.” 

“Oh! yes, you do, papa. You remember 
Mrs. Burroughs and her daughter Maude in 
London.” 

“Oh! yes, to be sure, and I remember now 
I was introduced to a tall young man. I am 
sorry, but I can’t see him now. Go down, my 
child, and explain to him that I am ailing this 
morning, and that I am going out on most 
228 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


229 


important business, though I have not the 
least notion in the world what it is.” 

Gabrielle flew down the stairs, and the 
count continued his dressing. 

She was back again in an instant, and said: 

“He says he must see you. His business 
is important, and he can do nothing until he 
sees you.” 

“Everybody has important business with 
me this morning, it appears. Bring him up.” 

Gabrielle went down for Jack, and the 
count resumed his chair, overcoat and all. 
Jack entered bowing, and excused himself. 

He stopped dead short in the middle of the 
room. 

“You want to see me alone 

“If you please.” 

Gabrielle went out. “Now, sir,” said the 
count. 

“I was coming down a street on Montmartre 
last night,” said Jack, “and saw two men on 
the other side of the way. I was attracted by 
the appearance of one whom I thought I rec- 
ognized. When I got a good look at him, he 
turned out to be the man I was searching 
for, and with him was your son.” 

“You had better be seated.” 


230 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


“Thanks. It was very dark and raining 
hard, snowing too, and sleeting, and th*e man 
left your son at the front door of a large house 
in Church Street. I went over and spoke to the 
viscount when he was alone, and he told me 
he was going in there to see a M. Lazare. 
Now I had been hunting this Lazare, and 
was in that neighborhood on that account. I 
requested your son to allow me to accompany 
him to Lazare’s room, but he refused. He 
did not know him, mind you. He was going 
there at the invitation of the man I had seen 
with him, and the motive used, I suppose, 
was a certain woman. I waited with the 
porter, and from him I learned that Lazare 
was the Prince de Carpegna.” 

“Great God! He was not killed then!’’ 

“No. But it was announced that he was dy- 
ing as Lazare. I met your son when he came 
out, and he told me that Lazare was the 
Prince de Carpegna. This time the prince 
was dead. He saw him die. I doubted it. But 
he was sure. I was afraid they were trying to 
lead him into some dangerous scheme, and I 
wanted to inform him who those people were.” 

“The Prince de Carpegna and his asso- 
ciates.? Who were they.?” 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


231 


“A band of Italian cut-throats calling them- 
selves patriots.” 

“God of heaven! And the woman.?” 

“Was their tool. She had been a street 
singer in London, and was called the prima 
donna of the slums when Carpegna and those 
men took her up to carry out their plans of 
vengeance. I told the viscount that, but I 
doubt if he believed me. I assured him I 
knew a man whose mistress she had been 
in London and he became enraged. He cooled 
down finally and I told him the woman’s 
name was Lavetti.” 

“Lavetti.?” 

“Yes, Rose Lavetti. She was the daughter 
of Scipione Lavetti who had been killed in the 
Midi by a Frenchman.” 

“I!” 

“You, count.?” 

“Yes.” 

“My God! I see it all. It was you they 
sought to reach through him, and they chose 
for an instrument the daughter of the man — ” 

“I had killed; yes, sir.” 

“Infamous! There is no time to be lost. 
Those men have done something and fled. I 
can’t find the viscount anywhere. I asked for 


232 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


him when I came here, and was informed that 
he was out. I then asked for you. On leav- 
ing him on Wednesday night I went back to 
the house in Church Street. I managed to get 
upstairs to the apartment in which M. La- 
zare was said to have died. An old Italian 
woman was there in charge, but in the mean- 
time a number of men had called and left. I 
requested to see the corpse and when I touched 
it I discovered it had been dead at the least 
two days. M. Lazare then had only pre- 
tended to expire, and had left the house with 
his countrymen afterward. They have ap- 
parently left the city, with the exception of 
those who took part in the Orsini affair. I 
beg of you now, count, to put the whole ma- 
chinery of the government to find Marcel, for 
he is in danger somewhere.” 

“I am going to the Council of State, sir, 
and will do as you say, even if it becomes 
necessary to invoke the assistance of the Em- 
peror.” 

“If anything should happen, count, I hope 
that your daughter will believe my family will 
always be glad to provide a home for her.” 

The count looked at Jack a moment, then 
rose and shook his hand. 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


233 


“I understand you, sir,” he said, “and the 
fact will make my death the easier. You will 
find her in the next room. Explain all this the 
best you can without alarming her. Good day.” 

“Good morning.” 

The count went downstairs with a heavy 
tread, endeavoring to conceal his feelings, but 
they broke out in the carriage, and he almost 
fainted. 

Gabrielle saw him to the door, and then 
went back to Jack. He told her a long story 
about Marcel, and brought it out that he was 
all safe and sound. He then touched on per- 
sonal matters, and finally acknowledged that 
he had asked the count for her hand, and that 
it had been promised to him in case calamity 
befell the family. 

Gabrielle hid her blushes on the breast of 
the giant in the chair and wept, she was so 
happy. He felt proud that such a fragile, 
pretty flower was all his own and glad that 
she was lame so that he could carry her about 
the oftener in his arms. Her helplessness 
appealed to his nobility of soul, and he loved 
her more on account of that defect. 

It was late in the afternoon when he left 
the house and before he went away an ar- 


234 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


rangement was reached that word was to be 
sent to him the instant Marcel came home or 
any news of him was received. 

» 


» 


XXXI 

THE MINISTER OF STATE 

When the Count Besnard entered the office 
of the minister of state the Palais-Royal clock 
struck ten. The ante-chambers were already 
filled by a waiting crowd. 

The count handed his card to the man at 
the door, and a moment later he was ushered 
into the presence of the great man. 

“Be good enough to take a seat,’’ said the 
minister, and the old count sat down, shocked 
and hurt at his reception. 

“Your excellency sent for me,” said the old 
man in a dry tone, “what may you want with 
me.?” 

No reply. The minister was seated in a 
large chair, apparently reflecting. He was 
puzzled, annoyed and looked as if he did not 
know how to begin. At last he said: 

“Yes, I sent for you, my dear Count Bes- 
nard, and I was sorry to be compelled to do 
235 


236 A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 

SO — ah! heaven, what an abominable enter- 
prise 1” 

The language, the manner, the tone, each 
offended the old count, and he was getting 
angry. 

“Abominable enterprise! Why, certainly! 
Still — pardon me — these enterprises become 
too frequent. People ought to watch better, 
and provide measures of safety.” 

“People— you mean me — that is — the gov- 
ernment?” 

He raised his head, and with a sinister, cut- 
ting smile looked at the old count, all his hate 
gathered in the look. 

“A lesson, count; ah! please spare us the 
reading of a lesson this morning. But, stay, 
first of all, whom are you speaking about — the 
criminals of last evening? These bandits of 
the street? They are all in prison. I was 
alluding to another culprit. To Marcel Bes- 
nard, your son.” 

“My son! What has the name of my son to 
do with all this?” 

“Your son made an attempt to assassinate 
the Emperor!” 

“My son! my son!” 

The old man rose, and held on by the 
chair. 


A PRIM A DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


237 


“I don’t understand you. You say — no, 
no, I cannot understand you.” 

After a little he shrugged his shoulders and 
resumed his seat, a disdainful smile on his 
white face. 

“Your excellency has been the dupe of 
some carnival folly. An infamous practical 
joke.” 

“I do not wish to bandy any more words 
with you, count, so I will therefore read you 
the report of the chief of police: 

“During the night of the 12th and 13th of 
January, the day before yesterday, Marcel 
Besnard attempted to assassinate the Emper- 
or at the house of a certain woman known 
as the Princess de Carpegna.” 

“The Princess de Carpegna!” repeated the 
old man, putting his hands to his face. He 
became livid. His heart beat violently and 
gave him great pain. The muscles tightened 
at the throat and he could only utter one word, 
“Absurd!” 

The minister did not even appear to remark 
the torture of the count and went on: 

“Absurd! I agree with you. True, however, 
very much too true. You may read, if you 
like, the preliminary examination.” 


238 A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 

He took the testimony from his bureau, and 
handed it to the old count, who pushed it 
roughly away from him. 

“No, no, that would be useless. The man 
is not my son. It is not he.” 

“Well, sir, that is easily settled. We will 
interrogate the culprit, and see what he says 
of it. He is here, they will bring him to us.” 

The minister tapped his bell, and a dapper 
little man answered the summons in an in- 
stant. 

“Let them bring in Marcel Besnard,” said 
the minister. A long silence followed, and 
the old count sat sturdily in his seat knowing 
they would not bring in his son. The minis- 
ter crossed his arms and leaned back. A smile 
of satisfaction played about his lips. Presently 
the sound of chains dragging along the flagged 
hall was heard. They approached the door, 
and Marcel was led in by a policeman. His 
face was white and haggard, his clothes were 
torn and covered with mud, and on his wrists 
were a pair of handcuffs. 

On seeing his father, the young man almost 
fainted; the policeman had to sustain him. 

“Father! Father!” he cried, and then 
dropped his head. The old count rose slowly, 
and when at full height faced his son. 


MARCEL WAS LED IN BY A POLICEMAN 




' •€» 




■; I 

0 I 

r 


4 





I 



I 


% 


I 


4 


I • 






A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


239 


“You ought to know, sir, of what you are 
accused !” 

“I only know one thing. I wanted to kill 
someone.” 

“Kill — the Emperor.^” 

“I did not know it was the Emperor. I 
thought it was another; still, I admit, even 
knowing that it was the Emperor I would 
have shot.” 

He stopped and cried out: 

“Father! Father!” 

During this time the minister was examin- 
ing some papers and presently said: 

“Marcel Besnard, you are accused of pre- 
meditation, and of lying in ambush.” 

“It’s wrong!” 

“I hope so for your sake. Still you must 
admit that this Princess de Carpegna put you 
in relation with a band of Mazzinians in this 
city. One of the men arrested this morning 
some distance out on the Central railroad has 
confessed the fact. Don’t deny it. The fact 
is incontrovertible. Some one saw you enter 
one of their dwellings in Montmartre where 
an old man died. The porter has given your 
description. Besides, your ex-mistress de- 
clared when she saw you, ‘That is Marcel. He 


240 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


is like his father — worthy son, ’ or something 
of that kind. It is clear.” 

“Quite clear!” 

“Silence! let me finish! You ought to know, 
I imagine, who in reality the so-called princess 
was. No.^ It seems incredible. The same 
Italian, the friend of the woman, who was 
arrested, told the police she was a prima 
donna of the slums, sang in the streets and 
the low drinking shops of London for a living. 
Her real name is Rose Lavetti.” 

The Count Besnard shrunk as if struck by 
a weapon, and bent his head on his breast. 

“Lavetti! yes, her name was Lavetti,” said 
Marcel, hardly disturbed by the announce- 
ment. 

“Yes,” continued the minister, addressing 
himself half way towards the count, “she is 
the daughter of a man condemned on the sec- 
ond of December, an insurgent taken at Var, 
and afterwards — assassinated —or at least 
shot — twice — to make sure. He is the man 
whom the Mazzinists, carbonari, and revolu- 
tionists generally call the Martyr of the Midi 
in their pamphlets and books. His name was 
Scipione Lavetti.” 

The minister stopped short, and the Count 
Besnard rose to his feet. 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


241 


“Finish, sir,” he said, “finish. He whom 
they call the martyr was taken with arms in 
his hands, and was shot twice by me, as you 
know;” and throwing his arms up he cried 
aloud, with eyes raised to heaven: 

“Ah, God in heaven, justice from thy 
sacred hand is blessed! I bend before thy 
mighty anger — oh, God! oh, God!” And he 
resumed his seat. 

“Take away your prisoner,” said the minis- 
ter to the policeman, “but remain at hand, I 
shall want you.” 

The policeman pushed Marcel before him, 
and they were soon out of the presence of the 
minister. 

There was a long pause. The minister 
took his seat; the count buried his head in his 
hands. The band of the guard was heard 
in the distance, playing the “De La Reine 
Hortense;” after a bit it changed to a song of 
the old victories, “Look to the safety of the 
Empire,” that had not gone many bars when 
a hearty applause was extended to it. The 
Emperor appeared at one of the balconies of 
the palace, and the people in the Carrousel 
saw him. At this the minister rose, and ad- 
dressed the Count Besnard: 

16 


242 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


“You hear, count, what enthusiasm, what 
transports of joy. No one would dare say 
to-day that the silence of the people is the 
lesson of kings. The empire is henceforth 
indestructible.” 

He watched the mute despair of the old 
man a few seconds; then, in a soft and feeling 
accent, as if touched with compassion for 
him, said: 

“Take courage, count. The Emperor 
esteems and loves you. He remembers your 
devotion and assistance in the dark days, 
and has complete faith in your loyalty.” 

The old man never moved, he seemed like 
one struck dead. Still the change in the min- 
ister’s manner did not escape him. What was 
coming next.^ 

“My dear count,” continued the wily states- 
man, “the Council of State will meet presently 
in extraordinary session. You will be present, 
will you not ?” 

“I! I!” stammered the old man, “no! I 
no longer belong to the Council of State. I 
place my resignation now in your hands.” 

“What nonsense! I refuse it.” 

“Still,” replied the count, looking up, and 
speaking bitterly, “I could not remain a coun- 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


243 


cilor of the empire, having for a son an as- 
sassin of the Emperor.” 

“I refuse your resignation. France has too 
much need of your experience and judgment. 
You will be at the sitting. The ministers 
will be there, and I shall be there myself. 
We expect to submit some important proposi- 
tions. Among them a law of general security. 
At all events, it will be well for the council 
to ask for this law in the address that it shall 
send to the Emperor. Such an initiate would 
be in its praise, it would produce an excellent 
moral effect, and give an evidence of the 
council’s devotion. An end must be put to 
these anarchists and creators of disorder. 
Ask with us that these unworthy citizens shall 
be put beyond the pale — men tainted with ‘48, 
the old reds. It may be a measure not quite 
legal, it is true, as it would be retroactive; 
but just, being necessary.” 

“How could these measures be just,” said 
the count, “being illegal.^” 

“Yes, I know, I know! That comes from 
your old judicial probity — it protests; it cries 
out indignantly; it rises in opposition. These 
scruples are fair and admirable, I know, and 
do you honor, but I must continue. The leg- 


244 


A TRIxMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


islature will approve with enthusiasm. But 
you, the Council of State, you are generally 
not over docile; indeed, you are frequently a 
trifle mutinous, putting small obstacles in 
the way. Certain of your members will raise 
an agitation, cry out, ‘This is too arbitrary,’ 
and, maybe, ruin our projects — you, my dear 
friend, you will vote the law. Better still, 
your eloquence shall win it for us. Your voice 
has great weight in the council; your austere 
rhetoric and grand principles are admired; 
the councilors defer to your judgment; you 
are the chief of the opposition, dangerous to 
us, and still more so to itself. So then, to- 
da}^ presently, you will speak, you shall gain 
us what we want.” 

“And my conscience, sir.^” inquired the 
count, his eyes fixed on the minister. 

The minister put his hand on the old man’s 
shoulder in a familiar fashion, and answered: 

“Your conscience, my dear count! It will 
understand without much trouble that you are 
a father, that your Emperor implores, and 
that France orders ” 

A blush of shame purpled the face of the 
old councilor of state; his eyes brightened, 
and a scornful smile crept into his hanging 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 2^5 

lip. He rose suddenly, and bowing low, said: 

“My conscience has only too well under- 
stood you, sir. I shall defend your law.” 

Then, with a trembling step, he went 
towards the door, and, that time, the minister 
accompanied him to the street. 


XXXII 


THE SENTENCE 

When the door was shut on Count Brutus 
Besnard the minister went back and sat down 
in his large arm-chair. The smile had fled 
from his face; the man became himself, nerv- 
ous, uneasy, anxious. He appeared buried 
in thought a moment, his forehead bathed in 
perspiration, a twitching movement of the 
shoulders announcing a secret agitation within. 
After a bit he rose and marched up and down 
his office in a fever of excitement. While he 
walked about his room with uneven steps, he 
stopped in jerks, as if pulled up suddenly by 
some unseen and controlling influence, before 
a picture — a portrait of Armand Duplessis, 
Cardinal and Duke de Richelieu — and exam- 
ined it at length. 

Then with a stroke of his gong he summoned 
his attendant. 

“Bring Marcel Besnard here, and dismiss the 
police agent who previously accompanied him. 

24C 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


247 


One word rriore. Here is a letter for my 
colleague of the Interior; take it yourself. 
Tell him that I answer for everything — but I 
expect that I shall be allowed to act as I think 
fit. I need twenty-four hours; I assume the 
whole responsibility.” He handed the con- 
fidential missive to the secretary who went off 
to accomplish his mission. 

When he was again alone, the minister 
was seized with a strange uneasiness. He 
dropped his head between his hands; he was 
trembling violently. 

The noise of a door opened softly caused 
him to raise his head. Marcel Besnard 
walked into the room. A few seconds passed 
while both men looked at one another amid 
profound silence. 

The minister observed the young man with 
a severe eye and a frowning face. Marcel, 
timid and fearful, waited until he was ad- 
dressed. 

Presently, waving his hand theatrically, the 
minister said: “You are free, Besnard.” 

An incredulous astonishment broke over the 
face of the viscount. The minister continued: 

“I said you are free — did you hear me.^^” 

His voice was rough and hard, his face had 


248 A PRiMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 

recovered its iron mask. He added petulantly: 

“There — you are free; now what do you in- 
tend to do.?” 

“Whatever I am ordered.” 

“That’s right! Now, understand me prop- 
erly. I am acting on my personal and pri- 
vate authority and responsibility. Public 
action against you is not satisfied; you might 
be arrested again to- day, to-morrow, do you 
understand.? No, I see you don’t. I must 
make it clearer. You could not be allowed 
to be accused and sit as a prisoner on a bench 
in the court of assizes, being the son of a high 
functionary of the imperial government. Now 
what are your intentions.?” 

“To leave the country.” 

“Foolish. Your extradition would be de- 
manded You have not understood me. 
Li ten .ultiitiv tly. You are named the Vis- 
C ' • :: .uj i; \oii are an auditor to the 

Cu'.i. i ou. e, and your lather occupies an 
elevated rank in the empire. It won’t do that 
proceedings should be commenced against you 
even in default. Am I clear enough now.?” 

He paused, waiting for a reply. 

The two men again looked into each other’s 
eyes, and tried to measure one another there. 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 249 

Marcel sought the minister’s meaning, and 
the minister sought to convey it without being 
compelled to put it into language. The si- 
lence was terrible. Both breathed heavily. 
The beating of their hearts was distinctly 
audible. Both were pale as death, and both 
knew there was death in the air. 

Time swept by, and neither changed his po- 
sition. 

It would be soon midday, and at one ex- 
actly there was a cabinet council at theTuil- 
eries. 

“Well, then, you won’t understand .J'” cried 
the minister brutally. “I thought you had 
intelligence and they said you were brave; 
you must disappear.” 

Marcel bounded from the floor at the sud- 
denness of the shock. He recovered in an 
instant and walking up to the minister’s desk 
said: 

“Take my own life!” 

The minister remained impassible. Marcel 
bent forward to him and asked almost in a 
whisper: “You demand that I shall take my 
own life.?” 

“Oh!” replied the minister, “that is a lofty 
way of talking, you may suit yourself. I said 
disappear — simply disappear.” 


250 A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 

“Disappear!” and Marcel laughed bitterly 
— “so be it, I accept your humbler method of 
expression. I understand.” 

He retired a step or two, crossed his arms, 
and then interrogated the minister in turn. 

“And what becomes of the Princess de Car- 
pegna.^” 

“That woman has left France.” 

Marcel Besnard laughed again. 

“Through the imperial clemency I I under- 
stand! I have understood! All is arranged. 
Now the son of the high functionary is ready 
to die.” 

At that instant, the warning of the clock 
on the mantel announced the hour. Noon 
struck — the minister pointed to the clock 
with his finger. 

“It will be a mysterious disappearance, will 
it not.? Above all, no family scene. That 
would be in the worst taste; spare your father. 
He had the mother, you the daughter, don’t 
recall these facts to him now.” 

“What do you mean.?” cried Marcel, almost 
beside himself. 

“Many years ago,” went on the minister 
with his malice all alive, “Brutus Besnard 
seduced the beautiful wife of Scipione Lavetti, 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 

and took her from her husband. The latter 
came to France to seek revenge, and join the 
insurgents in the Var until his opportunity 
should come at his enemy. In the meantime 
the enemy got at him, and he did not survive. 
The wife was cast off and died in poverty 
in England. That was the secret, and the 
meaning of your meeting with Rose Lavetti, 
Princess de Carpegna.” 

“It is time I disappeared.” 

“Midday. Good-bye. You have still 
twenty-four hours.” 

He rose, to cut the audience short, and 
with his old theatrical gesture, sawing the air, 
aid, “I have your word. You are free.” 

Marcel bowed, and went slowly out of the 


room. 


XXXIII 


THE CRUCIFIX OF NOTRE DAME 

The crowd which, a little while before, had 
almost filled the Place du Carrousel, had dis- 
persed. The military parade was over. There 
were no more grenadiers defiling, no more 
music rhythmed with drums, and calling to the 
field of honor, no more of the lounging en- 
thusiasm of the palace either, all the cries 
of “long live the Emperor,” had ceased. 
Alone in the vast court of the Tuileries, on 
the right and left of the great arch, the two 
cuirassiers of the guard, sentinels on parade, 
sat on their horses, immovable. The wind 
whistled from the north, under a pale blue 
sky, the cold was dry and biting, and caught 
pedestrians sharply on the face and ears. The 
Count Besnard, however, had passed the 
wickets of the Carrousel, and gained the royal 
bridge. Like a man lost in thought, uncon- 
scious of his acts, the hour and the distance, 
he walked mechanically toward the palace of 
252 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


253 


the State Council. At the angle of the pavil- 
ion of Flora, he stopped suddenly, the idea 
of self seemed to have awakened him. 

Yes, certainly, he had to speak that day, 
defend the project of the ministers, and, at 
the price of his honor, save, perhaps, the life 
of his son. But the moment of cruel torture 
had not yet come. Three full hours remained 
for meditation with himself. With a brusque 
movement, Count Besnard retraced his steps, 
and moved along at a rapid pace. He went 
straight on, at hazard, taking the line of the 
quays indefinitely, here and there glancing at 
the river as he passed. His head was split- 
ting, his heart felt as if ready to break, and 
his legs trembled beneath him. He continued 
his march, nevertheless, talking to himself 
aloud, and the passers-by turned to look at 
him and smiled. Sometimes a burst of anger 
broke out on his lips and he cried: “The 
miserable wretch*” But his voice soon lost 
its anger, and became compassionate, and he 
exclaimed: “My unhappy boy ” 

The striking of a clock aroused him from 
the wide-awake somnambulism He was in 
front of the city hall, and on the facade of 
Boccador midday was announced. The next 


254 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


moment three silver strokes went up from the 
church of Saint Gervaise. The church of 
Saint Severin answered them in grave and 
measured tones. From the side of the mount- 
ain Saint Genevieve joined in, and from par- 
ish to parish the Angelas struck out, and the 
religious heart of Paris, seemed, by one ac- 
cord, to ascend toward the space filled by the 
eternal. Softened, chastened, charmed, his 
soul soothed by the sweet music of the bells, 
the Count Besnard listened to the Ave Maria 
of the clocks. A scruple then assailed his con- 
science. What! he was suffering, and not 
praying! 

On the right, beyond the houses, bordering 
the river, he perceived the tall profile of Notre 
Dame, its two towers rising towards heaven, 
and the Angelas gently invited his heart to 
mingle in its supplication. “Sancta Maria, 
ora pro nobis.” 

“Oh! yes,” he exclaimed, “in the day of 
affliction, it is near you that it is good to shed 
a tear.” 

In answer to that appeal the count went 
forward with all his speed, and was soon in 
front of the great church. 

There were not many people in the church, 


A PRIM A DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


255 


and the obscurity, the silence, the mystery of 
the place fell like balm on the overwrought 
senses of the Count Besnard. 

On the side of the “Septeritrion” to which 
he went, the railings shutting in the lateral 
chapels were closed. One of them, however, 
was ajar. . He opened it, and going through 
knelt before the altar. 

“There, at all events,” bethought, “no one 
would venture to disturb his devotions.” 

He knelt without looking around, and did 
not notice in the darkness, a strange object 
leaning against the wall. It was a gigantic 
crucifix, a work of the Xllth century, at once 
unique and grand. The author of the figure 
had desired to pass into the wood through his 
unskilled fingers, all the ardor, all the tender- 
ness, all the wonder, all the mysticism of his 
Christian faith. He had selected the moment 
when the Son of God, become truly man, 
under the stress of pain, sent up to his Father 
the cry of human hopelessness, the terrible, 
“Lama Sabacthani.” “Why hast thou aban- 
doned me.^” 

The legs and arms were twisted, the bust 
was convulsed, showing in its thinness and 
agony the skeleton of the thorax — the forehead 


256 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


was crowned with thorns, the side pierced 
by a spear and from it seemed to flow blood 
like tears; the head hung on the shoulder, 
horrible with suffering, the mouth was partly 
open; a few moments longer and the divine 
breath would pass away, from over Jerusa- 
lem, the Gentiles and the world. Through 
the livid light thrown across a stained glass 
window that crucifix was frightful to behold. 
The Count Besnard had not perceived it. 
Broken with fatigue and trembling with fever 
he rose in a few seconds and sunk heavily into 
a chair, turning his back on the image. A 
confused noise of steps and singing caught his 
attention, and he looked up. 

Below, in the northern transept, they 
were celebrating the obsequies of some one. It 
was a modest service, consisting of low mass 
at a lateral chapel, a simple psalm at inter- 
vals — the humble funeral of one of the poor 
of this world. 

From where he was seated the Count Bes- 
nard could see nothing; but he understood 
what was going forward. 

“Another soul liberated from its misery.” 

He knelt again, remembering that he had 
come there to pray. But his prayers came 
slowly and painfully. 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


257 


“Paternoster — fiat voluntas tua. 

“Oh! — oh! Thy will was heavy, O Lord! 
Thou hast sorely burdened, oh! my God! an 
old man and a father!” 

Presently above the low, soft voice of the 
officiating priest at the funeral, rose the 
psalms of the singers. They were repeating 
the “Dies Irae.” The Count Besnard heard 
the words and said them as they fell on his 
ear; 

“Day of Anger — Day of Days. Death has 
spread his standard. The age has fallen into 
dust.” A curious hallucination took possession 
of the old man as he spoke. He thought he 
was assisting alone at his own funeral. He, 
so long a judge of men, had passed to judg- 
ment. He was about to appear before the 
Incorruptible. He then began to plead his 
cause. The voices of the psalmodists took 
a lamentable tone and went on: 

“Oh! unhappy that I am, what shall I an- 
swer; what shall be my defense at that hour 
when the Just Himself will be in anguish.?” 

The count replied: 

“This: I have always observed Thy com- 
mandments, I have abstained and fasted, I 
devoutly hear mass every morning, and many 

n 


258 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


times during the year I go to communion, and 
receive my Creator. I am a Christian. Why 
then dost Thou scourge so severely the serv- 
ant of Thy law.?” 

Gaining confidence he continued: “I was 
always honest, and listened to the dictates 
of conscience. I have never noticed the per- 
son of a criminal, only his crime. I remember 
one day seeing at the assizes a rich homicide. 
The family of the murderer offered me a large 
sum if I would admit of some extenuating 
circumstances, but his head fell. 

“I remember also that, pursuing in accord- 
ance with my duty, a fraudulent bankrupt, a 
relative of the man, a corrupt minister, re- 
quested me to abandon the case — the thief 
got his due. 

“I am poor; why, then, O Lord, dost Thou 
scourge so heavily an honest man.?” 

“And Lavetti.?” cried a voice near the count 
that caused him to jump to his feet. It was 
a strange, unearthly voice, and the count could 
hardly tell whether he heard it, or merely 
thought he heard it. He gazed all around, 
and the only thing in sight was the great cru- 
cifix. The image seemed to laugh through 
the new light cast on it, and the count trem- 


A PKIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


259 


bled from head to foot as he gazed at the 
colossal figure on the cross. There was a look 
of anger in the face, and a mocking smile on 
the lip — the smile of Him who came to the 
world, not with peace, but a sword. Pale, 
haggard, and frightened, the visionary con- 
templated that formidable figure on the cross. 
Presently terror struck into his soul, and he 
fell fainting on the floor. He recovered after 
a while, and got on his knees once more. 

“Yes, yes,” he cried, “Thou art the equita- 
ble, the God of truth, who will not tolerate 
whited sepulchers or pharasaical consciences 
— Lavetti! The blood of the man is on my 
magisterial robe, on my hands of an honest 
man, over all that I am, or have. It drowns 
me — suffocates me! Lavetti! I received the 
price of that assassination, and I have the 
pieces still. Peciinia niea mecum. I am 
a councilor of state! Lavetti! O mystery of 
justice, implacable patience of eternity! It is 
that man’s daughter who is killing my boy! 
She is my scourge. Thy moral, O God!” 

He raised his head, and extending his 
clasped hands toward the crucifix, exclaimed: 

“Oh, Christ, Thou chastisest me; and Thou 
art right! right! right! My soul is vile, and 


26 o 


A PRIM A DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


I have the heart of a scoundrel! I sold out 
both only a little while ago; I delivered up 
my conscience at a word I I promised that 
minister, suborner of honest men, that I would 
defend his law. I knew that it was an infa- 
mous law, designed to strike down innocent 
men; a desperate law, that would cause many 
fathers to weep as I weep now — and yet, I 
gave my word that I would support it. Speak, 
oh, speak! What ought I to do.^” 

Then by the pale light of the window, 
which stole across the face of the Christ, he 
thought he saw the angry smile change to a 
look of gentleness, and then, before him there, 
he perceived Christ — who slowly raised His 
head as if to make the words of the command- 
ment more distinctly heard — say in a voice of 
ineffable sweetness: “Thy duty.” 

“My duty;” gasped the old man, whose soul 
was filled with anguish. “My duty — and Mar- 
cel, my unhappy boy.” 

The Christ on the crucifix still smiled, in 
the same compassionate and sympathetic way, 
and finally whispered, sorrowfully; “Thy duty 
all entire, thy duty of expiation, so that at 
last I may be able to give thee the kiss of 
peace.” 


XXXIV 


THE COUNCIL OF STATE 

It was nearly three o’clock when the Count 
Besnard, throwing off the ecstasy which had 
held him so long in the great church, rose and 
left Notre Dame. He took a cab at the door, 
and was driven to the hall in which the State 
Council met. It was already well filled, and 
every preparation had been made for a long 
session. The count took his usual seat. At 
the end of half an hour the president stated 
the business of the meeting, and there was a 
long silence. The minister of state then ex- 
plained the law for which the consent of the 
council was asked. He showed that it had 
become a necessity on account of the attacks 
on the Emperor’s life, and was urgently de- 
manded by the exigencies of the time. “The 
beast must be muzzled,” he said. 

The question in the minds of many of the 
councilors was, “Where did the beast come 
from.? Was it a foreign beast, or was it a do- 
261 


2b2 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


mestic one? Were they Italians who were com- 
mitting these attacks on the new government, 
or Frenchmen who regarded their rights as 
sacrificed?” 

The minister’s analysis of the new law was 
received with glacial respect. A short silence 
ensued, and then low whispers ran from point 
to point in the vast hall. One said: “They 
want to draw a vote of surprise from the coun- 
cil;” another, “The law is illegal;” a third, 
“It cannot be endorsed here, it is retroactive;” 
another, “It is a work of vengeance, not jus- 
tice.” A profound silence followed. Every- 
body seemed to dread the sound of his own 
voice. Who would dare to speak? At that 
moment the minister of state leaned over to- 
ward the president, and whispered to him. 
The president rose, and asked if any member 
wished to address the council. 

Another silence, and then a voice said 
faintly: “Yes, I.” 

“Ah! the Count Besnard,” said the presi- 
dent resuming his seat, a smile of satisfaction 
on his face. 


XXXV 


THE KISS OF PEACE 

A general movement took place in the 
council as the old man stood up. Every eye 
was centered on him, each watched him 
keenly. He was straight and firm as in his 
best days; the voice, weak at first, took on a 
sonorous, even tone that reached the furthest 
limits of the place. 

“We were convoked urgently, gentlemen,” 
he said; “now here we are, what do they want 
with us.^ Approbation without reserve, or ad- 
vice? A little while ago the president dared 
to say, ‘Approve at once, you can discuss 
later.’ A strange invitation under an impru- 
dent form, which you have already rejected 
by your silence. But a dumb protestation is 
not enough for your courage. We are the 
counselors of the empire, its honor is in dan- 
ger, our words ought to reach the Emperor, 
and give him our opinion. The grandeur of 
263 


264 A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 

an assembly is measured by the height of its 
duty. Gentlemen, let us do our duty.” 

A certain agitation was produced by this 
solemm exordium. The secretaries around 
the president affected to talk and laugh. The 
count proceeded: “It is proposed to us to 
vote on a law pretending to be a measure of 
general security. They tell us, ‘France is ill, 
bleed her in the four members. ’ That was 
how Robespierre spoke in the days of Prai- 
rial, year ii.” 

“No such allusions, if you please,” said one 
of the ministers. 

The Count Besnard turned to the group of 
ministers and said: 

“Yes, I understand; a name like that sounds 
unpleasantly in your ears. Well, let us search 
for others. Two governments of the past seem 
to me to inspire you, serving you as models, 
much more than as lessons. They were the 
inventors of exceptional laws, the artisans of 
vengeance, and not the workmen of justice. 
In 1640 they were called the Stuarts. They 
disappeared. In 1815 they were called the 
Bourbons; where are they.^^ The fact is, the 
blood of man is a dew so fruitful that no one 
knows where and when it may arise; to shed 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 265 


it brings a harvest of hate without pardon, of 
crimes without remorse. It cries to God, 
and God listens to it. Prynne is nailed to the 
pillory, but in his turn Charles the First 
mounts the scaffold; Michael Ney fell riddled 
with bullets, and Sourel springs up with the 
knife in his hand. You have struck, you shall 
be stricken; you have made others weep, you 
shall weep also.” 

“Remember your own acts, sir,” cried an 
insolent voice from the ministerial bench. 

The minister of state had risen in his place. 
He was scarlet with anger. The two men 
looked at one another for a moment, and then 
the count, bowing low to the minister, con- 
tinued: 

“My acts! Yes, yes. I remember them. 
Always! Always! I never forget them. Dur- 
ing the past seven years I have become only 
too familiar with remorse.” 

The minister made a threatening gesture 
toward the count, and replied: 

“When a man is chastised by remorse, sir, 
he ought to conceal it in retreat !” 

“You demand my resignation.?” returned 
the count, with all his old fire and dignity. 
“You shall not have it! Depose me if you 


266 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


dare! I rose here in my place to address my 
colleagues, and no power on earth shall pre- 
vent me from calling on them: ^Deny this 
law, it is sinister — throw it out, it is imfa- 
mous!”’ 

An ill-repressed excitement ran through 
the hall. All the ministers stood up. The 
assembly was agitated, overawed ; a similar 
scene had never before broken upon the dig- 
nified calm of the councilors. 

The president endeavored to restore order 
and harmony but found his voice had not 
reached the audience. At last turning to the 
old count he asked: 

“Have you finished, sir.^*” 

The Count Besnard had sunk into his seat. 
His eyes were closed, the arms hung down 
outside the chair, the head hung on the chest, 
as if he had fainted. 

When the president addressed him he was 
on his feet again like a shot. 

“No! I have not finished!” he cried. “But 
it is no longer to the council that I speak but 
to my sovereign. 

“Pity, sire, pity for yourself, and yours. 
History has revealed to us a formidable dog- 
ma in the families of kings — the child is too 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 267 

often the expiator of his parents. Look at 
all the last of the Valois — that miserable line 
of Catherine of Medicis, struck down one 
after the other by imbecility, madness, and 
worse. It was in the blood. Pity! Pity!!” 

All of a sudden the old man shrieked as if 
in intense pain, beat the air with his hands 
and sank on the floor. His face was convulsed, 
and a stream of blood was issuing from his 
mouth. 

“A doctor, quick!” cried those in his vicin- 
ity, and several stooped to raise him. M. 
Boudois tore open the clothes, felt the heart, 
and in accents of terror exclaimed: “The 
rupture of an aneurism!” 

A strange alarm now weighed on the coun- 
cil. Everyone was moving, and pressing 
round the invalid. 

He never stirred. In the silence the rattle 
in the throat could be heard. It became 
fainter and fainter, life was ebbing. When 
the doctor arrived it was all over. The God 
of Notre Dame, the Christ with the sweet 
smile, had not deceived him, the work of His 
mercy had just been accomplished. He had 
given the old man the kiss of peace. 


XXXVI 


OVER THE PRECIPICE 

Gabrielle lounged about in her room all 
day, a prey to many emotions. She was un- 
easy about her father, who had gone out very 
ill, and nervous about Marcel, whom she had 
not seen since the previous day. Jack floated 
in her mind a good deal, but in a steady, lumi- 
nous way that brought her courage and com- 
fort. She tried to read, but could not. She 
sat at her piano, but could not play, and her 
voice appeared to have left her. And so the 
tedious hours crept by, and the sun went down 
without bringing about a change. As the 
lamps were being lighted Marcel came in. His 
appearance frightened his sister. He looked 
more like a ghost than a live man. 

“Marcel!” she exclaimed when she saw 
him. “Marcel! Marcel! my brother! what 
has happened to you.^” 

“Is our father here.^” 

“No, he has not come back yet. He was 
208 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 269 

summoned hastily to a meeting of the council 
and has not yet returned.” 

“Yes, yes, I know.” 

“But what has happened.^ What have you 
done.^” 

“I am going away, little one, maybe for 
some time Say to my father that I came here 
to beg his forgiveness, and that I do so al- 
though I cannot wait to receive it.” 

“You are not going with that woman again, 
Marcel.?” 

“You must ask me no questions; I cannot 
answer them. I am going into my room to 
make the necessary preparations, and I hope 
you will conduct yourself in this trying ordeal 
like the daughter of a brave man.” 

“I will try, Marcel.” 

He left her, and retired to his own apart- 
ment. She sank into a chair, and sobbed 
aloud. She was sure the strange woman had 
again obtained control of him, and was going 
to spirit him away. 

“Oh! Jack! Jack!” she cried in despair, 
thinking that Jack was the only power on 
earth which could help her. 

At that moment a servant entered the room 
with Jack’s card on a salver. 


270 


A PRIMA DONNA UF THE SLUMS 


“At once!” exclaimed the helpless girl. 
“ Bring him here I” and she cast the card away. 

Jack came and his face terrified her almost 
as much as that of Marcel. 

“You have bad news,” she cried as she ran 
toward him, “bad news of my father.^” 

“Yes,” he said, slowly. “I have bad news 
of Count Besnard. Be prepared for the wo/st. ” 

“He is dead,” she exclaimed, and fell faint- 
ing on his breast. 

Jack called for assistance, and Marcel, 
hearing the voice, came into the room. 

“You here, sir.^” he said to Jack, half in 
friendship, half in anger. 

“I have the right to be here, sir,” replied 
Jack; “your father gave me that right when 
he was made acquainted with my intentions 
toward your sister.” 

“Oh!” said Marcel. “Perhaps it is better 
that way.” 

“I hope it may be.” 

“Have you seen my father,, sir .^” 

“No, but his body will arrive here presently. 
I gave orders to that effect.” 

“He is dead.?” 

“Yes, he died in the chamber of the Council 
of State after a noble speech.” 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


271 


“My God!” 

“He fell dead in his place.” 

“My God! My God! And all through me.” 

Marcel turned on his heel and strode out of 
the house. 

“Where is he going.!* Where is he going.-*” 
cried Gabrielle on her recovery. 

“I will go and see,” replied Jack. “There is 
something strange about him that I do not 
like.” 

“Go! Go!” cried Gabrielle, “and bring me 
word soon. You are all that is left me now!” 

“You remain and watch over the dead, I 
shall go and look after the living.” 

Marcel had too good a start of Jack to get 
caught, and was lost in the night. It was late 
the following afternoon when he obtained 
news of him at his notary’s. 

“I can’t tell you anything of his where- 
abouts,” said the lawyer, “but I can tell you 
that I think he meditates some rash act.” 

“Why so.!*” 

“He has arranged all his affairs as if death 
were not far off.” 

“I suspected that.” 

“That man is going to fight a duel or com- 
mit suicide.” 


272 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


“Suicide, I fear.” 

As Jack left the office of the lawyer, an old 
man came up to him, and asked if he were in 
search of the Viscount Besnard. 

“Yes,” said Jack, “I am.” 

“I can give you some information of him if 
it’s worth anything.” 

“It’s worth a good price if it’s correct. 
Come and tell it to me as I go along. I am 
pushed for time.” 

He put the old man into his cab, and drove 
off. The fellow had been a detective and now 
hung around the lawyers’ offices for any odd 
jobs he could pick, up. 

“Well,” he said, “how much down.^” 

“Nothing.” 

“That’s a bad beginning.” 

“You must do the beginning.” 

“Where are you going now.?” 

“To look for a woman!” 

“Hi! Hi! You’re fly! Guess you won’t find 
her.” 

“Do you know her name”.? 

“I do.” 

“Tell it, and I’ll give you a napoleon.” 

“The Princess de Carpegha.” 

“There's your money. Now go ahead.” 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


273 


“Well, the gentleman you are after came 
to a friend of mine last night, and asked him 
if he could do a trick in his line. He said he 
could. The gent then explained he was to 
go to a certain house in Montmartre and ask 
for a woman, giving the name. If she were 
not there to come back and report, if she was 
to say that the prince wanted her to meet 
him at a certain spot this side of Cantulupe 
on the sea coast. The meaning being that 
she was to take ship and sail away. My friend 
went to the house, and found the woman 
there. She said, ‘All right,’ and in token that 
it was all right gave him a withered bunch of 
wild roses. When your friend, the viscount, 
saw those wild roses, he turned white, 
snatched them up, and crushed them to pow- 
der in his hands. He paid a handsome fee 
and left. We then made a few inquiries. We 
found out that she had been discovered to be 
in with a band of Italian conspirators, and 
had been ordered to leave the country. The 
spot at which he requested the woman to meet 
him was a high promontory, running out into 
the sea. A shoal of pointed rocks grinned 
beneath; in point of fact, the loneliest and 
most dangerous place on the whole coast of 
j8 


274 ^ PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 

France. She went on the 10:30 Southern Ex- 
press this morning, and he on the 2:15. If 
you take the train that leaves in half an hour 
I should not wonder if you catch up with him, 
for he is on an accommodation train. He 
means mischief, and has planned it adroitly. 
It’s none of our business.” 

“There are five napoleons for you. Tell 
this man to drive me to the station.” 

The old detective jumped out and Jack was 
soon rolling along toward the railroad station. 

He got to Val d’Avez and Lutean, but 
heard nothing at either place of the parties 
he was in quest of. 

He hired a horse at a little village near 
Fecamp, and rode along the coast for several 
miles. 

Presently he came upon a sight that chilled 
the marrow in his bones. A man and woman 
were struggling on the rocks, and the man 
was dragging the woman inch by inch to the 
edge of the precipice. She was fighting hard 
to get free, and screaming for help. There 
was no help at hand, no one to hear her. 
Jack jumped from his horse and ran forward. 
The woman recognized him as he neared them 
and screamed to him for help and assistance. 


* ■ t 



•s 




I 








« 



If 

I > 










t 




4 


$ • 



' 4 

> 


\ 




4 t 


« 

» 


t 

I : 



» i\ 


4 

• ' 

* 

aW 



'I 

H 


4 


» 1 






% 


» 




4 


* 


I 

^ ' 


% 


I 



f 



#1 

i 

I 

. ♦ 





« 


4 



I 


4 


1 

.« ✓ 


4 







» 


/ • 

'n • 



k 

I . 

% 




’» .• 


» 





t 





GRASPING ROSE BY THE WAIST, HE SPRANG FROM THE ROCK 


A PRIMA DONNA OF THE SLUMS 


275 


Marcel recognized him too, and grasping Rose 
by the waist, lifted her from the earth, and 
sprang from the rock into the seething waters 
below. 

They never came to the surface. Jack stood 
watching for a long time, and then, con- 
vinced that all was over, turned sadly away 
and went back to Paris. 

The Count Besnard was buried with due 
honor, and Gabrielle went to become Jack’s 
wife in England, and live a life of calm 
and happiness. 


THE END. 




•/ 




/ 




' ■•;■"" ■ .' I' ; ^v,,. v: 


» + 


'I Y- • ‘ 

.^V^' 


*-• ' 

s • 


■ .•' f. 




: . f.i<V •.vv:j, 
'* ,3 ''J“: ■ ’ •' 

• • 5 ^ S' '-V * ' •• • 

'.. ’v „■ ^ 


p.*** 


/■ 


C-' 


■> * 1 . 


> \ 


I ■ •■ 


; . H 


' 

It.' >'>L- 


•, f 


« . 


^V^>. 


^ •* / 


1 ^’ 


\ 


i 4 

\ 

*<» . 


A 


f \ 


't I Ti 


•■ \. 


6 


^'■ 






^ * 4 


i. 


. . I 4 '■/ i* , ' 


' / 


TT 









, .'* 

r r 





,v,K ' .«S7 a 

■>' o 


'- u 





















.0 




0 S 

^ V 


o ^ 

/-V ^ ^ ^ t 


0 ’ 
.\ 


* • rj^ t .V 

<\ O y 0 , ^ * Ai 





O V 

' * 

i O 

, wt ’A,'-^ > ^ '1 

r^ ^ c o » 


\V ’P ^ ^ 


v\^’ " A - 



. A.' <l 


r - j? <f • .\ * 

y^ 'P .-^ 

<*^ •- Jyi 

If. (kl'& 


^'o o> . « ^ '' 



V 


ms. 


*0 

\ ^ 



' ' v>^ -. ^ 

, >» -O' ^/ * •• s » ’ .'?'^ '^ ‘ •' -0 

0 > ■'fe- v' > 

'^' *'.^Sft^'" ,V . W '/>1 " 



" 0 s 0 


s* 


V', ° %% 




■* ' . '7 


(V \i> ^ ^ ^ 

_,o> '^c- 

, ^<' 'i'’ " 

" '^J» * »" 

^ .<{>• " 


« <?’- .\ 







^ N\ , 4^ ^ \J 

s . * c^ 'ft 

l*\^ ^ 1 C ^ D a. V *’ \y^ 

^ 0 >i c . \' ^\i«^ ® * •'■ .0^0 

'f'y. ^ ^ ^ Si 

" ^ ^ 



^”'y' ~*i>'SS^S'".<P '^o'» 

' ^ „ A. ^ r*Si^w ✓ ^ 

f 


o >1 - >■ ^ 

ci'. *- 


* ^ 

.0 N 0 ^ \ V « I A 

V ,. '> * 0 / > V 

\ A\\%S^W/. L 



. 1 i> * 

I ' ^ r '^/' 

'' y^ '/ C* 

^ ^ r 




f;.. 

^ tj* 

tP <s 


f^-' ... \^ ./■ 

o' o % 

" O- ».S 0 > 

Y* ^ ^ ^ 

" ^ ^ "“r. 

o C,^ w ^ 

'/>. ° ‘t/v 'n)}* * .s'’ ° 

%, 'o,.^ >'^.o^ ■., ^-C-''**'' ^-1 

<7 v'^ •^'I,i'r;%., ■* . 

O"^ ^r/<* " *^* ^ < 1 *^ t 

\ > ^ t^y/ipjW N •z' ^ \ > ^ 

^ \L* Ly ^'t‘%/i/ . A ^ ^ <* vO r^ 

'“’ r.„ '^. ‘■i'"\>° , ''=2i.-'»!i so^ * 







I. .Vj 




A, 





\/ ^ ^ ^ / 





r 









1 ft 



s. n « 'Jt s c 


-^' ■' o- .0 

■y g , A » '0 

'' * 0 A > 

•\ ^ \ 

O, ' 0 . ■.* ,0^ 

-o"^ t ® ^ 


' ' “ ^ ^ \ 1 « '■^/ ' « ’ 


.vO °^. 



h, o 


z 


o 

^ fts 



■>' 'j. ■'"'„ i” 'c> 

a'V ' -t.. V 

' xN?’ * "" " 



L V ’^\ 


K 




, %. " ■> N 0 ' 


^o.. * ^ , X ^6 

> , 0 0 

■^oo'* ;% 


.0 


C2^. 


■cJ>. ' -y >, , . ■» *0- ’o 


- - ' • ' ' ''c. 

■A •?' 


') s 


t \r^ ^ » 

" .0^ 


,\V 

‘A 


,0‘ c « ^ x- 


•v -^. 


oo' 


,s" \;\ 

^ "i 


'rj^ * I, C^ A ■ 

\' . '^- " « ' ' " s « , . % N « ^ » 0 , ,> 

'^^m: 


ft '' 



' v^' ~ 

<* ^ ft H. 


« .0 o. 

V A 

''.0^ ^6 

0^ ■'" •' '^ Ci. 

^ <, <?^, -x- ^ 


V? * 

^ - A -«w.A^ . 

S i^\ 

^ u o o'^' 

:> V vr ^ 

■d-’ 'o, ''♦■,'1. 

'*” ■ v>\. ' *», ^A " ,9^ ''” ' 

^ ^ ,n c^ ^ ^ rx’n.' . : nmSh^ ' '/~^ 

\|^ vv yv^ ‘ V<- • ^ ^ 

c ^ 


c 

O'' A- X^ 

\ A 





“ 'A 'i' 

X ■ *> » >' ' •a> 

" ,A y „ , X ■* ,0^ 

■<« " ■ A , « ' ' * • o. 

A j' ,£4M^ 

I .00. * 

V ^ ^ 

A 


* 0 N 0 ■’ 




LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 


□ □G2Sat.7H53 



